


i’d burn this city down to show you the light

by you_explode



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 16-Year-Old Harry, 18-Year-Old Louis, Alternate Universe - High School, Bottom Harry, Face-Fucking, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Punk Louis, Rich Harry, Submissive Harry, also slight, slight slight slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_explode/pseuds/you_explode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i’d burn this city down to show you the light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [g_uttertrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_uttertrash/gifts).



> ahhhhhhhh! first of all, kingsandthieves, I really hope I did your prompt justice! I know I didn't stick as closely to it as I would've liked (if it helps, there's definitely wisps of a continuation in my head that would follow it better, both in the "showing him how to break the rules" part and the smut - if I'd written everything I wanted to for this, it'd be double the size) but I hope what I ended up with is okay!!!
> 
> all the love in the world to [Vera](http://eonnified.tumblr.com), without whom I'd probably be a complete mess <3
> 
> notes on the fic: I see Louis's band as sort of like a weird, garage band mix between [anti-flag](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUABysoSTH8), [against me!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7RUeMCZL3Q), and [alexisonfire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIUbUAYwkTs). also the title is from fall out boy's sophomore slump or comeback of the year, but I definitely wanted to make it the chorus of something corporate's [punk rock princess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNZr3WW9AGg), if not only for the hilarity.  
> AND, I made a silly graphic to help me picture them, and then I thought including it as a reference might be helpful - credit to harderharrybegged and bullshippingstylinson for the Louis manips, whose permission I haven't asked, so I'll take it down if they like.
> 
> thingsicant31 is posting an italian translation [here](https://www.wattpad.com/390514844-i%27d-burn-this-city-down-to-show-you-the-light), with pictures and everything <3

-x-

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2sbaomg)

 

-x-

 

It’s the end of July, and already Harry’s pretty sure this is going to be the hottest summer he’s ever experienced in his entire sixteen years on the planet. It’s just unusually, unbearably hot. Harry is more thankful than he’s ever been that his parents decided to put in a pool a few years back. He and Gemma always teased them for it, said it was a ridiculous display of overspending for people who lived in Britain, but he’s mentally taking that all back now.

He’s pretty sure he’s spent the majority of the last week in the pool. Niall and Barbara, his best friends, aren’t much better, and neither are Gemma and her friends. Right now, though, he’s sadly been lying on a poolside chair for the last fifteen minutes. Barbara and Gemma are sunning themselves on either side of him, and Harry doesn’t know how they stand it. Gemma’s best friend Lou is on her other side, and she at least has set up the giant umbrella his parents keep out here so she’s in the shade. Harry’s already forming vague plots to steal her seat.

“C’mon, Gem, I finished eating ten minutes ago,” Harry whines.

“Nope,” Gemma says, not even looking up from her phone. “Wait another ten at least.”

“You’re not my mum,” Harry says. He knows he’s pouting, but really. He’s boiling, he’d very much like to get back in the water, and this is ridiculous.

“They’re trusting me to look after you while they’re away,” Gemma says. “I’m not going to let ickle Harry get a stomachache.” She looks up, then, finally, and she’s smirking.

Harry _knew_ she was just having him on.

“I’m pretty sure that whole don’t go swimming after you eat thing is a myth,” Barbara says absently.

This is why she’s Harry’s favourite.

“You’re my favourite,” Harry says, and Niall throws a chip at him.

“Hey!” Niall says.

“My favourite girl,” Harry amends, and Niall looks mollified.

“Ten more minutes,” Gemma says.

Harry groans. He wants to cannonball right back into the pool, just to spite her, but on the other hand, he likes doing what people tell him to. Even if it’s coming from his sister.

He wriggles in his chair for the next few minutes. He puts on some more sunscreen, which is pleasantly cool against his skin, albeit briefly. Then he fidgets some more.

Finally Gemma sighs. “Okay, fine,” she says. “If you get sick, don’t come crying to me about it.”

Harry’s up in a flash, doing a running jump into the pool, and Niall joins him even though he’s literally just shoved chips in his mouth. Gemma doesn’t say a word about that, of course.

*

The house is fairly terrifying at night, now. It’s weird, Harry thinks, that not having his mum and Robin around would make such a difference – they’re just two people, after all, they don’t fill up much space – but he’s been so much more aware that he lives in an actual mansion since they left.

His parents have been away for a week, at their holiday home in the south of France, and they’ll be gone for one more. It’s supposed to be a relaxing start to the summer holidays for all of them – a romantic getaway for his parents and a parent-free time for himself and Gemma. It says a lot about the two of them that their parents had literally no qualms about leaving them alone. “Maybe we’ll throw a rager,” Harry had said, and his mum had laughed so hard she’d almost fallen over.

It’s not just the two of them, anyway. They’ve got a housekeeper and a cook, who are like members of the family at this point, but they leave at six pm every day. Harry’s taken to having Niall or Barbara stay over, but they do need to go home at some point.

Or spend time together without him. The two of them have a weird on-off friends with benefits arrangement, although Harry’s pretty sure they’d both like it to be more. He doesn’t think they’ve shagged in a while, but they might be tonight. They were both acting strange when they left.

So, whatever, tonight he’s sleeping in Gemma’s room. It’s not embarrassing, okay, it’s _not._ Why can’t siblings have sleepovers? They used to do it all the time when they were kids.

Gemma laughs when he says as much, and rolls her eyes fondly. “Get in bed, kiddo,” she says, and Harry does. Her bed is a particularly large kingsize, all their beds are, but Harry has always had a suspicion that hers is comfier than his. She presses play on her remote, and her flatscreen TV lights up with 101 Dalmations.

“This enough nostalgia for you?” Gemma asks, and Harry can’t help grinning as he nods. They were both fairly obsessed with this movie as wee little kids; he’s pretty sure they know it off by heart, and also that certain quotes may have been some of his first words. They recite the lines along with the movie for the first half of it, but gradually they both slip into sleep.

*

Harry wakes up with a jolt. It’s still dark, though Gemma’s room is lit up with an eery blue glow from the TV’s options menu, and she’s still asleep. Harry’s heart is racing, but he doesn’t know what woke him.

And then there’s a definite crash downstairs.

Harry thinks his chest seizes up. He tries to tell himself it’s just the cat, but then he could swear he hears a voice. Holy _shit_.

He doesn’t even think, he just grabs the nearest thing on his way out the door – a tennis racquet, as it happens. He wishes he had one of his golf clubs on hand, that might actually be useful, but there’s no time. He sneaks downstairs as quickly as he can and then pauses, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from.

“Bollocks,” says a voice from the parlour. This is the least subtle burglar ever.

Harry rounds the corner and flicks on the lights, hoping to have the element of surprise on his side. Unfortunately, his eyes have to adjust to the light as well, so it doesn’t give him much leverage.

“What the fuck,” the burglar says, and Harry squints at him as he turns around, and –

Good lord, he’s the most attractive boy Harry’s ever seen.

And Harry knows attractive boys, okay. But this one – he’s a bit scruffy and his hair is shaggy, and he’s wearing black from head to toe. He’s got piercings and eyeliner and such a nice body, and Harry kind of longs to get his hands on his hips, among other things, and then he remembers. This boy is trying to rob him. And is potentially dangerous.

He’s also suddenly rather glad he went to sleep in Gemma’s room, and therefore is wearing pajamas. Usually he sleeps naked, and he’s not sure how a confrontation like this would go if he was.

The boy looks surprisingly sheepish. “Nobody was supposed to be home,” he says.

“Are you robbing me?” Harry asks. It comes out sounding confused, which is pretty accurate, because – the boy’s not holding anything of theirs, or any weapons, nor does he have a bag or anything to carry stuff away in. The only sign Harry can see that he’s been there at all is the knocked over coffee table. Well, and a window's open. It must not have been locked. Maybe wasn't even closed.

He and Gemma are apparently not as good as their parents at making sure the house is secure.

“You’re the Styles kid,” the boy says.

“Er,” Harry says, a tiny bit upset that this beautiful boy thinks of him as a _kid_. “Yes? I mean, you’re in my house?”

“I s’pose I am,” the boy says. He crosses his arms. “Well if you’re going to call the police, can you just get on with – ”

Harry frowns. “You didn’t answer me,” he says. “About whether you’re robbing me.”

The boy shifts, and then his eyes seem to catch on the tennis racquet. “Were you going to attack me with a tennis racquet?”

He sounds so incredulous that Harry’s embarrassed. “Yes,” he says stubbornly. “Are you going to answer me?”

“Well I suppose _technically_ I’m robbing you,” the boy says with a sigh. “I wasn’t going to take anything really valuable, though. I mean, probably.”

“Right,” Harry says, really confused now. “I’m sorry, what?”

The boy purses his lips, looking thoughtful. Harry wants to kiss him. Wait, no, he doesn’t.

“My mates dared me to break in,” the boy says. “We’d heard your family was on hols and they said I couldn’t do it. So I was just meant to grab something to show I did. I was thinking a family photo or somethin’.”

“So then you’d just have a framed picture of my family?” Harry says. “That’s rather creepy.” He doesn’t know why the thought delights him so much.

The boy shrugs. “Didn’t know it was your family.” Then, belatedly, he says, “Sorry.”

“What’s your name?” Harry can’t help asking.

“Why, you gonna report me?” the boy asks. “You never said if you were calling the cops.”

“I’m not,” Harry says, realising it’s true. “I mean, you’re not dangerous and you’re not a burglar, so. I just want to know who you are.”

“You’re really weird,” the boy says, and then he sighs. “I’m Louis. I’m sorry for breaking into your house, it was poor form.”

Harry lets out an unexpected laugh at how contrite he sounds. “I’m Harry,” he says. “Pleased to meet you.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “If you say so,” he says. He looks toward the window he obviously fell through, as though he’s planning his escape, and Harry feels oddly frantic.

“D’you want something to drink?” he blurts out, and then wants to slap himself. It’s probably the least creative thing he can think of to get Louis to stay.

“You’re asking the bloke who’s trying to rob you if he wants something to drink,” Louis says, almost as if it’s a question, mostly like he can’t believe it.

“Erm. Yes,” Harry says. He thinks fast. “My mum raised me well? And you’re not robbing me, you said.”

Louis studies him. “Okay,” he says. “I can always use a tea. Got any Yorkshire in this mansion? I’m expecting you to have a truly impressive display of teas.”

Harry laughs at his almost pompous tone and leads him into the kitchen. “We have a lot?” he says. “We all prefer different types, that’s mostly why, but also my mum just likes tea. She buys all different sorts all the time. I think we’ve had Yorkshire before.”

Louis sits down at the breakfast bar and crosses his arms. “Well, if you don’t have it now, you can just see whether I’ll deign to rob you again,” he says. “Poor service, that’d be.”

Harry rummages through his mum’s tea cupboard, rather than arguing with Louis about whether or not he’s a robber. Louis’s insistence on calling himself such, now that Harry has said he isn’t phoning the police, is probably far less strange than – than the fact that Harry isn’t phoning the police.

Right.

So, tea.

“Aha!” Harry says, pulling a near-empty box out from the back, behind the Earl Grey. “You’re in luck!”

Louis cheers softly. It’s adorable. Oh no.

Harry might possibly stare blankly at him for a moment too long, because Louis cocks his head. “Get on with it then, I haven’t got all night,” he says.

“Oh, right,” Harry says, turning to put the water on. “Of course. Got other houses to rob, have you?”

Louis looks pleased that Harry’s catching on. (Harry’s not, not really, but he can pretend.) “You call this a house? S’closer to a castle, innit? Where’re your servants?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Ha ha,” he says. He takes down two mugs instead of answering, his usual banana-printed one and an old one of Gemma’s with a disgruntled hedgehog on. It reminds him of Louis, a bit.

Louis’s quiet while Harry looks at the tea cupboard again, trying to decide whether to try Yorkshire and maybe get on Louis’s good side, or to have his usual green tea and risk his judgement. He pulls down the green, eventually.

He turns around just in time to see Louis’s thoughtful expression crinkle in disgust. “ _Green_ tea? Really, Styles?”

“S’good for you,” Harry says weakly.

“Let me guess, you also like chai and chamomile and fucking, I don’t know, jasmine with lemon or something, don’t you?”

Harry does. “No,” he says.

“Philistine,” Louis sniffs. “I don’t know that our relationship can continue.”

Harry perks up. “Relationship?”

And he definitely doesn’t imagine the way Louis’s ears pinken. “Er, yeah, the um, the one between the burglar and um, the burgled? S’ a very important relationship, that.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Harry says. “Except you haven’t actually robbed me, have you? I’d say it’s more like... the breaker and enterer and the broken into and... entered.” He can hardly finish the sentence before he’s doubled over laughing, and Louis joins him almost instantly.

“It’s a bit early in our _relationship_ for you having been _entered_ , Harold,” Louis says, and his eyes twinkle, and Harry doesn’t know if he wants to laugh until he cries or to jump him right there.

Thankfully, the kettle whistles before he does anything stupid.

As he’s pouring the water out, Louis lets out a loud, heavy sigh. “I can’t believe you’re offering me teabags. What a poor host.”

Harry tries not to snort. “My sincerest apologies,” he says. “I’ll be sure I’m better prepared for the next tea party. Maybe you can give me a bit of warning, too.”

“Nope,” Louis says airily. “Surprise tea parties with strangers, that’s my thing.”

Harry wants to question if they really are still strangers, and if so, in that case, how can they do this again, but he doesn’t want to hear the answer. “How do you take it?” he asks instead.

“Bit of milk, no sugar,” Louis says, sounding offended. “Is there any other way?”

He’s so self-righteous about tea for someone who looks like a time-traveling Sex Pistol. Harry thinks he might be a bit in love.

Harry finishes Louis’s tea, and maybe forgoes his usual teaspoon of sugar in his own so Louis doesn’t think any less of him. But Louis’s distracted by his first sip.

He closes his eyes for long enough that Harry truly can’t tell what’s going on, but then they pop open and he beams like sunshine.

Harry might be a lot in love.

“Tell you what, despite the teabags, you make a good cuppa, Harry Styles,” Louis says, and Harry has to look away to fight off his blush. What a silly thing to blush over.

“S’just water and a bit of milk, s’not hard,” he mutters.

“Mm,” Louis says. “You’d be surprised how often people get it wrong.”

Harry can’t help smiling. “It’s hard out there for a tea purist, yeah?”

Louis purses his lips. “Well, what would you know about that,” he says haughtily, and Harry laughs, delighted.

Louis stays long after he’s finished his cup of tea. He gets several texts from his friends – one of which genuinely seems to be worried Harry’s house was haunted and the ghosts had gotten him – but Louis blows them off in favour of telling Harry that he’s eighteen, he’s got four sisters and two more on the way, he’s got a job at the music place in town and he’s going to have to retake sixth form after the holidays at Holmes Chapel Comprehensive, the state-funded school nearby. He’s really into music, even in a shitty band and writing his own shitty songs, in his words, and as punk as he looks, his favourite band’s the Fray. He loves football more than any of his mates, never has anyone to talk about it with, and he skateboards and clearly loves his family and his best friend more than words.

After about two hours have passed, Louis gives Harry his phone number, and Harry sees him off with a copy of last year’s family Christmas photo as proof for his mates and a rather large chunk of Harry’s heart.

He goes to sleep feeling like he’s also lost his mind, a little bit.

*

So he’s got a crush on the very fit, very punk rock lad who broke into his house. And he’s got his number.

And he has no idea what to do about either of them.

By the time Niall, Barbara, Lou and Sam come over around lunchtime, he still hasn’t said a word to Gemma about any of it. He doesn’t think he wants to tell anyone, actually. It’s cliché and stupid, but he wants to keep Louis to himself, at least for a bit.

He knows what they’d say, anyway. Gemma’d say he was being an idiot. Niall would laugh at him. So would Lou, and Barbara would roll her eyes and tell him to just fuck him already, and Sam would agree with her. So what’s the point in telling them anything when he can have the whole conversation in his head anyway?

That decision doesn’t bring him any closer to knowing what to actually do. It feels like Louis’s number is burning a hole in his phone, and Harry just wants to talk to him, to text him at least, but he’s sure he’d just come across like the posh loser that he is.

There’s also the matter of how, much as he’d love to take imaginary Barbara’s advice, logic tells him it’s a bad idea. For one, boys like Louis don’t stick around after one night stands, Harry’s pretty sure of that. And he’s also sure he wants Louis to stick around. The other thing is, Harry’s a virgin. And it’s not like he really cares about his first time being special, like, virginity’s a social construct and whatever, he knows, it’s more that he sort of wants his every time to be special. With a special person. Basically he wants to love them, and for it to be mutual, and while he thinks maybe he could feel that way about Louis, he has no idea if Louis could ever have those sort of feelings for him. And he has nothing against meaningless sex, but he doesn’t want to be that for Louis. He thinks that could kill him.

Already. After a few hours with the guy. He’s in far too deep.

Which is why meaningless sex would never work.

So then what? What does that leave him with? Dating? The idea of Louis dating, much less someone like Harry, is laughable.

Also, like, probably the most important point of all: he’s got no idea if Louis’s even into guys. And if he is – he’s _eighteen_. Why would he even look twice at a posh idiot kid like Harry?

Which means he’s got Louis’s phone number in his pocket and no idea what to do with it.

Of course, as with most things in his life, Niall ends up saving the day. It’s not as hot as yesterday, and Niall starts whining about being bored.

“I mean, Haz, your pool is great, trust me, real lifesaver, it’s just that there’s only so much time you can spend in the water before it all gets really repetitive, you know? And Josh and the guys were talking about kicking a ball around today. We should go to the park.”

The girls all exchange looks.

“Count us out,” Barbara says.

“Definitely,” Lou and Sam say in unison, because sometimes they like to disturb everyone by doing their freaky twin thing.

“But you should both go,” Gemma says. “An afternoon without sweaty teenage boys? Sounds like bliss.”

Harry throws his towel at her. Then he agrees.

The park is really a field nestled between a children’s playground and the skate park. And Louis skates. It’s a long shot, but if Niall wants to go anyway, well – it’s a win-win.

Niall’s looking at him funny, like he’d expected more of a fight, because it _is_ still hot and football really isn’t Harry’s sport. Harry doesn’t really have a sport. Usually he and Niall will just have a go around the golf course at the club.

Harry shrugs at him. “Sounds fun,” he says. “I’m in the mood for a bit of exercise.”

“You’re mad,” Lou says, leaning back in her seat, and that’s that.

*

Louis’s not at the skate park.

The disappointment is like a punch to the stomach, which is stupid, because it’s not like Harry’d had any real reason to expect him. Harry forces himself to smile at Josh, Dan, Michael, and Ashton instead, and they split into teams quickly. Niall and Ashton are the only ones who’re willing to have Harry on their team – which Harry finds rather insulting, however understandable it may be – so it’s the three of them against the others.

Josh’s team’s first goal comes because Harry kicks it in accidentally. Niall banishes him to goals then, where he quickly lets through another one. Luckily Michael is almost as hopeless in their goal, so Niall and Ashton get in two themselves.

“Tie-breaker!” Josh yells, dribbling the ball down towards Harry, who wipes the sweat out of his eyes and concentrates. One save. It’s not that hard, can’t be, Josh isn’t that good a player himself.

It feels like everyone’s holding their breath as Josh kicks the ball. Harry has a lucky break; he judges where Josh’s kicking correctly – but then his limbs spasm and he kicks the ball rather than catching it.

Niall cheers anyway and Ashton intercepts it, standing where Harry’s kicked it by another stroke of luck. He gets it up to the goal simply because Josh and Dan aren’t expecting it, everyone was clearly expecting Harry to let the ball in, and then Ashton’s lining up his shot and Michael misses and it’s in.

Niall whoops and hugs Ashton, and Harry runs up the field to crash into the two of them.

The other lads clap them on the backs when they part, and Josh offers everyone bottles of water. Harry takes his gladly – it’s tepid at best, but he’s about to boil. He tips the bottle over his head, and Niall laughs and Josh whistles, and then, as Harry’s shaking his wet hair out of his face, he sees him.

Louis. Leaning against one of the fence posts. Smirking.

Harry is suddenly very aware of how wet he is. And how see-through his white shirt is. And how rubbish he is at football, oh God, how much has Louis _seen_?

“Er, excuse me a minute,” Harry says, then he jogs over to Louis.

Louis’s smirk grows as Harry approaches. “Hey Beckham,” he says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Harry says. “I know, I’m rubbish.”

“You managed a save,” Louis says fairly. “Won the game, really, didn’t you?”

There’s something about how soft he says it, like he’s going easy on Harry when he might take the piss out of anyone else, that makes Harry feel warm.

“Don’t know that you had to turn yourself into a walking wet t-shirt competition, though,” Louis adds, and just like that Harry’s blush is more from embarrassment.

“It’s hot,” he complains.

“Yeah,” Louis says, and Harry genuinely can’t tell if they’re talking about the weather or... something else. That has to be wishful thinking on his part, right?

“So, um,” Harry says, eyeing the skateboard by Louis’s feet. “You here to skate?”

“That is generally what one does at a skate park,” Louis says. “But I was distracted by the impressive football skills you lot just displayed.”

“Mm, we’ll do that,” Harry says. “’Specially me. I’m quite impressive.”

Louis grins. “Quite,” he says. “Distracting, also.”

Yeah, that’s flirting. That has to be flirting.

Harry’s just dazed enough that he can’t quite think of anything to say, and then an impossibly good-looking boy is rolling up beside them.

“You gonna hang around here all day, then?” the boy says, obviously to Louis, and the thing is – he’s got more piercings than Harry can count, and a blonde patch dyed in his black hair, and a real, actual sleeve of tattoos. He’s wearing ripped black skinnies and the t-shirt of some band Harry doesn’t recognise. He’s so _cool_ , and he’s gorgeous. If Louis is even into guys, he’s probably with this one. Or guys like him.

Harry doesn’t stand a chance.

“No need to be rude, Zayner,” Louis’s saying. “I was just chatting to my mate Harry here.”

Harry doesn’t know whether he’s thrilled or disappointed about Louis calling him his mate to this insanely beautiful person. This _Zayner_.

Zayner gives Harry a once-over. “Not your usual type, but the wet shirt works for him,” Zayner says, and Louis shoves him. He doesn’t even fall off his skateboard, which just adds to Harry’s envy.

“I said, don’t be rude,” Louis says. “Harry, this is my best mate Zayn. You’ll have to excuse him, he’s very hungover.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says. Zayn. Louis’s best mate. “Feel like I’m dreamin’, all I can think about is me headache, you know how it is.”

Harry doesn’t, not really, but he nods.

“If it were up to me I’d be inside in the air-conditioning, not interacting with people, but Louis’s a real little shit and forced me out.”

Harry finally manages to unstick his tongue. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

Zayn smiles. “You’re polite,” he says, but he doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. “Well, likewise. Lou, I’m going over to the park, try to join me before the bloody sun sets.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Harry can’t stop staring at him. “Yeah, get out of here,” Louis says, and then Zayn skates off, and they’re alone again.

“Um,” Harry says.

“Sorry about him,” Louis says. He actually does seem a bit embarrassed, which, what? “The sun tends to melt his brain.”

Harry manages a laugh. “I know how he feels.”

Louis hums. “So,” he says. “You didn’t text me.”

“Was I supposed to?” Harry says, as his stomach swoops.

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, I did give you my number,” Louis says. “And generally, that’s what you do with it. Text. Maybe you haven’t heard of it.”

Harry laughs again. “I’m familiar,” he says. Then he bites his lip. “Um. Sorry. I didn’t know what to say?”

“I’m pretty easy, Styles,” Louis says, smiling all slow. Harry’s not sure if it’s supposed to be seductive, but it definitely is. “I don’t need much. A simple hello will do.” He’s leaned in really close now, Harry’s not sure when it happened, but suddenly he’s so close that Harry could probably kiss him if he wanted.

Harry swallows. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Louis pulls back abruptly. “Good,” he says. He’s still smiling, which helps with the loss. A tiny bit. “See that you do. Now, I’d best be on my way before Zayn melts away to naught but a puddle in his ridiculous boots, but before I do – what are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight?” Harry repeats. Is this – is Louis _asking him out?!_ “Nothing, um. Nothing important.”

“Cool,” Louis says. “My mate’s having a party. You should come.”

Almost as good. “Okay,” Harry says. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Awesome,” Louis says. “So, text me so I actually have your number, you great doofus, and I’ll send you the address.”

Harry has to bite back his huge, manic grin. “Okay. I will.”

“You’d better,” Louis says, and then he winks, and then he skates away. Harry wants to swoon.

Of course, Niall’s by his side the instant Louis isn’t.

“Who in the hell was that?” Niall asks.

“The love of my life,” Harry says. No use hiding it anymore. Niall looks perplexed, but Harry doesn’t bother to explain. “How do you feel about a party tonight?”

*

It’s not that Harry’s never been to a party before. He goes to parties all the time. They’re usually thrown by his parents’ friends for some charity or another, but still.

“Don’t wear a fucking blazer, Harry,” Niall groans, tugging his sleeve off. “It’s like you don’t know how to be a teenager.”

His friends have had parties too, with lots of people. It’s just that, they all run in the same upper class circles, and everybody respects everybody else’s property, so they never get out of hand.

Still, though. He’s drank before. He even walked in on someone snorting coke in the toilet once. He knows parties.

He has no idea what this party will be like. Or how to dress.

“Stop fretting,” Niall says. “Just pull on your tightest jeans and a t-shirt. That’ll do.”

“Right,” Harry says. Tight jeans.

It takes a good long search through his trousers drawer, but eventually he finds them – a pair of dark skinnies he’d bought on a whim last year. He thought they looked cool, but turns out he has no real occasion to wear them. Until now.

He struggles into them, wiggling around on his bed, while Niall looks through his shirts.

“Christ, Harry, do you even own anything other than button-ups and polos?” Niall grumbles. “I was sure you had cooler stuff than this.”

“I’ve got a few, hang on,” Harry says, and he goes over to his chest of drawers and finds them, a small stack of t-shirts in the corner of his shirts drawer.

The first one is from Disneyland and probably doesn’t fit him. Niall shakes his head no. The second is a Man U shirt. Niall throws it across the room.

“Burn that,” he instructs.

The next one is from Coney Island. Harry’s pretty sure most of his shirts are souvenir shirts, come to think of it. He’d got this one on a family holiday to New York a few years back, it’s black and white with a mermaid on the front. Gemma had said it was probably for girls, but Harry had liked it. He still likes it. He should wear it someday, even if it is probably really tight on him now.

“No,” Niall says. “Jesus, this is almost as bad as the polos.” He pulls out the next shirt, then sighs in relief. “Thank God. Wear this.”

It’s the Rolling Stones shirt Gemma had bought him for Christmas years ago. It’d been too big for him then, so he’d put it away and forgot about it. Looks like it’d fit perfectly now.

It does. Niall wolf whistles. “You look good, mate,” he says, swinging an arm around Harry’s neck and leading him out of his room. “Now let’s go before we miss the party altogether.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Like there’s much chance of that.

*

Harry’s giddiness over being invited somewhere by Louis wears off during the drive to the party. Instead, he mostly feels anxious. He’s not going to know anybody, and what if Louis doesn’t actually want to hang out with him? He’ll feel like such a loser.

The house is in a pretty rough area, but that’s not really surprising. What is surprising is the nervous look Niall shoots him as Harry parks the car. Harry’s never seen Niall nervous about a social situation ever.

“Do you actually know these people?” Niall says, shooting a look at the house. It looks like every room inside is lit, people spilling out everywhere, and they can hear the music pumping from the street. It looks like the epitome of every crazy party Harry’s never been to.

“I know Louis,” Harry says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “And his friend Zayn.”

“Right, Louis,” Niall says. “The thug from the comprehensive school.”

“He’s not a _thug_ ,” Harry says, his face screwing up in distaste. “And you sound like my sister. You’re supposed to be cool, Niall!”

“I am cool,” Niall says, offended. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Or either of us. I don’t think we’ll fit in here.”

“C’mon, I’m wearing my Stones shirt,” Harry tries to cajole. He can’t help smiling. Trying to persuade Niall is making him feel loads better. “You’re wearing your Eagles shirt.”

“It’s my dad’s,” Niall says, picking at it. “I should’ve chosen a cooler shirt.”

“It’s plenty cool,” Harry says. “They’ll think it’s vintage, or ironic, or something. Probably.”

“What do you know, you think blazers are cool,” Niall mutters, but he undoes his seatbelt. Progress!

“We gotta do this,” Harry says. “Louis _invited_ me. You don’t even understand how much I like him.”

Niall lets out the biggest sigh Harry’s ever heard. “Fine,” he says. “But you owe me, and if we die, I’m not taking any of the blame.”

Harry pats his head. “I’ll make sure Gemma doesn’t blame you,” he says. Niall’s more scared of Harry’s family being mad than Harry is.

They make it to the front steps before Harry has second thoughts. Again.

“Tell me why this is a good idea again,” he says to Niall.

“It’s not,” Niall says, and then a clearly inebriated girl pulls them inside.

“Hi,” she’s saying. “I’m Jade, who are you?”

Harry’s more preoccupied by the crowd of people huddled inside the foyer. He wants to question why they’re there, obviously in the way of anyone coming in, but when he stands on his toes he realises they just don’t have anywhere else to go. The house is absolutely packed.

“Holy shit,” Niall says.

“Come on, I’ll get you some drinks,” Jade says. She pulls them through the crowd, and Harry’s never been in a moshpit, but he’s been to a lot of concerts, so he’s seen them – and this is what he’d assume pushing through a moshpit is like. It’s crazy.

People are dancing, and holding loud conversations, and making out all over the place. It’s like none of them have any care in the world, and it’s kind of exhilarating.

The kitchen is slightly less full. Jade starts pulling out bottles of spirits.

“What do you guys want?” she asks. “And did you tell me your names?”

Harry genuinely doesn’t know. “I’m Harry,” he says. “And that’s Niall. And, um, we’ll have what you’re having? Thank you?”

“You’re welcome, cutie pie,” she says, and flashes Harry this beautiful smile. She’s really pretty, he realises. Her hair’s dark blue, which he’d thought had been a trick of the lights before, and she’s heavily pierced. She’s wearing a leather jacket and shorts and not much else. If Harry were at all interested in girls – but he’s not. Niall seems to be having trouble pulling himself together, however.

Jade makes their drinks quickly, with what looks like vodka and red fizzy drink. Harry thanks her again after she slides them over, then says, “Why’re you being so nice to us?”

He feels dumb the second he says it, but she just grins at him again. “Well, you both looked so lost outside. And you’re so cute. I took pity on you.”

“Back off, Thirlwall,” says a familiar voice. Oh, thank God, Harry won’t have to go looking for him.

He’s so happy to see Louis he hardly registers Jade rolling her eyes. In fact, it’s like everyone else in the kitchen disappears. He’s not interested in any of them anyway.

“Louis!” he says, unable to keep the dumb smile off his face.

“Hi, Curly,” Louis says. He’s smiling too, which is good. Harry wants to hug him. “I see you’ve met Jade.”

“Settle down, Tommo, I was just getting them drinks. Like lost little lambs, they were,” Jade says.

“They?” Louis repeats, and then his gaze falls on Niall. A funny thing happens to his face, his expression just goes blank. “Who’s this, then?”

“Niall,” Niall says.

“My best friend,” Harry says. He bites his lip, because he forgot to ask if it was okay for him to bring a friend, but the odd expression leaves Louis’s face and he smiles.

“Right, yeah, I saw you play footy today,” Louis says. “You’re not bad, mate.”

“Oh,” Niall says, obviously surprised. Then he grins, and Harry knows Louis’s in. It’s that easy with Niall. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” Louis says. “Now, how do you lot say we go someplace quieter? A load of us have commandeered the back room.”

Harry nods eagerly, content to follow Louis anywhere but especially someplace where he can hear Louis talk more easily.

*

Harry’s only a bit drunk, and he doesn’t know what he was so worried about. Everyone in the back room is lovely. They all look like Louis and Jade and Zayn, all black and leather and piercings and tattoos, and there’s a lot of smoke in the air, but they’re all friendly enough. Nobody calls him a posh rich boy poser loser, or whatever it was he was worried about. One guy even complimented his shirt.

Louis’s the most lovely of all the people in the room, though, of course. They’re on a sofa and Harry’s leaning against him, faintly aware that he’s half in Louis’s lap. Niall’s on his other side, getting well-acquainted with Jade and Zayn and Zayn’s girlfriend Perrie, who has very pink hair. Pink like bubblegum and candy floss. Harry wants to touch it.

She’s sitting with Zayn on a beanbag on the floor, and Harry thinks she’s close enough to touch, so he leans over with his arm stretched – and then he’s falling, headfirst towards the ground, and then – then he’s not, because someone’s pulling him back up on the lounge.

It’s Louis, he realises. Louis, who’s still holding onto the back of Harry’s shirt. Who has the prettiest eyes Harry’s ever seen. He cups Louis’s cheek and is about to tell him as much, because Louis should know that his eyes are pretty, but then he remembers Louis’s just saved him from certain death. “You saved me.”

Louis laughs, a bit. “I did,” he says. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not much,” he frowns, trying to remember. “Only had three – four? Four of the drinks Jade made.” Then he laughs. “Jade made.” That’s hilarious.

Louis’s not laughing, though. He leans across and flicks the back of Jade’s head. “Thirlwall! I told you not to get him drunk!”

“You did no such thing,” Jade says. “You just said back off. Nothing about drinks.”

Harry doesn’t really understand why Louis’s glaring so much, he shouldn’t be glaring, he’s too pretty to glare. He pokes at Louis’s eyebrows to make them unfurl. “Stop that,” Harry says.

Louis laughs, which makes Harry happy again.

“Much better,” he says.

Louis’s fingers are in Harry’s hair and they’re stroking and it’s really nice. “How d’you feel, love?” Louis asks, which makes Harry’s insides go all warm.

He’s about to say he’s okay, but then he realises his head is a bit swimmy. “M’head’s a bit swimmy,” he says, eyes suddenly fixed to Louis’s neck. It looks like such a nice place to cuddle in and have a bit of a sleep.

“I bet all the smoke in here’s not helping,” Louis says. He looks thoughtful. Harry wants to kiss him. Then Louis’s standing up, pulling Harry to his feet too. Harry whines, he was _comfy_ in Louis’s lap.

“C’mon, we’re gonna go outside,” Louis says. “Get you some fresh air.”

Harry pouts. “Okay,” he finally agrees.

Louis wraps his arm around him and leads him out. Niall yells “Get in,” but Harry doesn’t think he knows what he’s talking about.

*

Outside is nice. It’s better.

It’s still loud, and there are more people about, but Louis grabs a blanket from underneath the bench on the patio and leads Harry down the back of the garden. It’s darker there, and there are much less people.

Harry stumbles over weeds and what he thinks might be a flower patch, but Louis keeps a firm hold on him. He seems to know where they’re going, and soon he shakes out the blanket on the grass near a fence.

“There we go,” he says, helping Harry sit down. Harry could probably manage that himself, but it _is_ dark and he likes having Louis’s hands on him.

“Hang on,” Louis says once they’re seated. He fumbles with his keys and then turns on a light.

“You’ve got a torch on your keys?” Harry says. That seems highly prepared.

“Comes in handy,” Louis says, ducking his head. Harry’s not complaining; he can _see_ Louis now. It’s nice.

“How’d you know where this blanket was?” Harry suddenly wonders.

Louis smiles, like he thinks that’s a silly question. “Told you, this is my mate’s house. I know where they keep everything.”

That makes Harry laugh, and then he flops onto his back. He can see the stars, which is really lovely. He also feels much better now that he’s had some time away from the smoky room they’d been in.

Louis lies down too, and Harry wants to touch him, maybe hold his hand, but all of the bravado he’d felt inside is escaping him.

They lie in silence for a while, and it’s really very nice, but Harry wants to hear Louis’s voice.

“You do this often?” he asks. “Leave parties to stargaze with strange boys?”

“Only ones I’ve attempted to rob,” Louis says. Harry elbows him. “Not really? Sometimes I do this by myself, if I’m very drunk. It sobers me up a bit, I think.”

Harry can understand that. He feels less drunk out here, after all. “And nobody comes to find you?” That seems like a huge mistake on their parts. He doesn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to be around Louis all the time.

He feels Louis shrug. “Sometimes. If everyone’s really smashed, we tend to lose track of each other. And sometimes I want to be alone.”

Harry turns onto his side. He’d much rather watch Louis than the stars, he thinks. “But not now?”

Louis turns too, and he reaches out and pushes Harry’s curls off his face. “Not now,” he says softly.

For a second, Harry thinks they might kiss. Louis is definitely close enough to kiss. The thought makes his insides squirm, mostly in a good way but also with nerves, and Harry has to sit up.

“You alright?” Louis asks, sitting up as well, his hand on Harry’s back. He sounds so concerned, it does nothing to kill Harry’s butterflies.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just got a bit dizzy.” He thinks it’s a decent bluff, and Louis nods like he believes it.

“Want to look at the stars some more?” Louis asks, and Harry can’t very well say _no, I want to look at you_ , so he nods.

“And maybe, um, I might feel better if I could have a bit of a cuddle?” he asks, feeling incredibly shy and very scared that Louis might say no, even though they’d definitely been cuddling inside.

But Louis just smiles and holds out his arm. “’Course,” he says. “Come here then.”

Harry scoots closer and tucks himself under Louis’s chin, his legs curled up with his knees in Louis’s lap. They’re quiet for a bit, until Louis asks if he wants to hear the stories of the constellations. Harry does.

“Right, so, do you see that one? The brightest stars over there, they make a bit of a circle, don’t they? It’s called the Ring of Fortune, and it’s named after this bloke in Ancient Greece who had this magic ring that gave him good luck. Then one day, Zeus or whoever took the ring to punish him for looking up girls’ skirts. And he put it in the skies, so whoever sees it is supposed to have good luck. And the bloke had really rotten luck for the rest of his life.”

Harry thinks about it. He looks at the circle, which is rather misshapen if you ask him. He pulls away a bit to look at Louis. “Is that true?” he asks, and Louis grins.

“Nope,” he says. “I used to make up stories like that all the time when I looked at the stars. Could never remember the real ones.”

Harry likes that. “Like that one’s a fish,” he says, pointing out a cluster of stars that vaguely resemble a crude fish drawing. “So the story is, a guy was fishing and he caught a huge fish, but as soon as he got it on the boat it started talking. And it said, if he didn’t throw it back and never ever fish again, he’d be sorry. But he didn’t listen, he kept on fishing and when he went to go home for the day, he got caught in a big storm. And he fell overboard and turned into a fish. So that constellation is like a warning to fishermen.”

Louis looks at him like he might be a bit mental, but he’s smiling. “A warning that they might turn into fish?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “’Cause the magical talking fish is still out there.”

“You really do talk some shit, don’t you?” Louis says, and his grin softens the impact, but Harry pokes him in the chest because he tried hard with that story.

“Let’s see you do better,” he says, which starts them off coming up with story after story, each more implausible than the last.

“I think these could rival the constellation stories, I really do,” Louis says, after he’s told one that sounds rather a bit like Peter Pan mixed with Alice in Wonderland.

“There’s another one, see? The crown, over there?” Harry points out. “There was a prince, who lived in a huge castle and was very well looked after and wanted for nothing. And he didn’t even realise anything was missing until he met this boy, who was the rebel of the kingdom. Like, um, Robin Hood, sort of. So the King and Queen wanted to hang the boy for stealing, but the prince knew he was a good person and he couldn’t bear the thought of the boy dying. But there was nothing he could do, and it all looked hopeless, until the night before the execution when a fairy appeared and turned both of them into sparrows. So they flew away and they were happy.”

“They turned into birds? That’s your happy ending?” Louis sounds outraged.

“Yeah, because sparrows mate for life, right? And they could fly away and be free, then.”

“Hmph,” Louis says. “Should’ve had that fairy turn the king and queen into birds. And – are constellation stories even supposed to have fairies?”

“I dunno,” says Harry. “Probably not. Don’t poke holes in my story.” He turns his best pout on Louis, the one that works on everyone but Gemma.

“Sorry,” Louis says. “It was good. I liked that they were both boys, you don’t see that in the traditional constellations.”

“I’m all about equality,” Harry says, laying his head back down. Louis might say something else, but Harry’s too busy abruptly falling asleep against his chest to hear it.

*

He’s startled awake by a giant weight falling on him.

“No, don’t,” Louis’s voice is saying, and Harry realises he’s lying on Louis, and Niall’s lying on him. What the –

“Oh, sorry Haz,” Niall says, rolling off them. “Thought you were awake! My bad!”

Harry manages to get his wits about him and sit up. He’s sleepy, but much less drunk, and very embarrassed. He can’t believe he fell asleep, let alone on top of Louis like that. He’s hit with the recollection of how cuddly he’s been all night, and he’s pretty mortified. So much for not looking like an inexperienced idiot.

“How long’ve I been sleeping?” he asks, still a bit groggy.

“Um, a while,” Louis says. He looks embarrassed too, which is weird. “You were just out like a light. Jade’s drinks tend to do that.”

Harry bites his lip. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That must’ve been boring for you.”

“It was fine,” Louis says, and he finally smiles. Harry feels much better. “I told you, I like sitting out here.”

Niall headbutts Harry, clearly tired of not having his attention. “You missed the party,” he whines. “I liked it. We played games! And I had to strip!”

Harry notices then that he’s only in his pants. He doesn’t know whether to groan or laugh, so he does both and ends up making a weird gargling sound. “Niall! Where’re your clothes?!”

Niall shrugs. “Inside? Anyway, people are going home, so I thought I’d find you and see if you wanted to go. Zayn said we could sleep at his place.”

Right. Because they’d both been drinking, and they couldn’t drive home. Fuck.

“What? How’d you get here?” Louis looks alarmed.

“I drove,” Harry says. “But I can’t drive now.”

“And Zayn’s the only sober one,” Louis says. “Fuck.”

“Zayn said his family are all at his grandmother’s, so it’s okay,” Niall says. Harry would think that he was just too drunk to see any problems with anything, but he’d probably be the same sober. It’s how he is.

“I can stay there too, if you like?” Louis says. “I mean, I’d offer my house but it’s full of my sisters. But I can stay at Zayn’s, if it’ll make you feel better?”

Harry bites his lip in thought, not wanting to look desperate or like a baby but not wanting to impose on a stranger. He nods. “Could you? I just feel weird, we don’t really know him and I don’t want to impose?”

“Well _I_ know him,” Niall says. “We’re the best of friends!”

Louis laughs. “It’s fine,” he says. “I mean, it’s not imposing either, Zayn offered, but still. No worries.”

*

Finding Niall’s clothes is a task and a half. The house has much less people in it now, but it’s like a tornado’s swept through. Harry feels bad for whoever’s house this is.

Finally they locate Niall’s last sock, and then the three of them meet Zayn and Perrie at the front door.

“We usually walk home, it’s not far,” Zayn says. “But you drove, yeah? Would you feel better having your car with you, or do you not want me to drive it?”

“You’re sober?” Harry double-checks.

“Very,” Zayn says. “You saw how hungover I was today. I had a few hits of a joint but that was ages ago, had to stay sober to look after these two.” He gestures to Niall and Perrie, who are giggling to each other.

Harry looks him over. He does seem okay. He looks to Louis, who says, “You can trust him.” Harry thinks so too.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll sit in the front though.”

He leads them over to his car and Zayn almost faints at the sight of it.

“Mate,” he says. “I’d no idea you had a fucking Porsche. Are you sure? We can walk, it’s not that far.”

“Then it’s not that far to drive,” Harry says, shrugging and giving Zayn the keys. He’s tired again, just wants this over with. “Let’s go.”

*

“Zayn’s creaming himself,” Louis says from the backseat. They’ve only just pulled out onto the street.

“Shut up, Lou,” Zayn says. He’s gripping the wheel so hard it must hurt. Harry kind of wishes he was less concerned about hurting the car so he could enjoy driving it, it’s so nice to drive.

He has to force himself to be sit up and be more alert. It’s almost three AM, which is good – there’s barely anyone around. They only see a few cars in the five minutes before Zayn’s pulling up outside a house.

“We’re here already?” Harry asked. “What were you so worried about?”

Zayn looks at him in disbelief. “Easy for you to say,” he says. He’s scrupulous about getting them all out of the car, making sure the doors are locked and getting the keys safely in Harry’s pocket. It’s cute, and if he didn’t trust Zayn before, he does now.

*

Zayn pulls the mattress off his parents’ bed and covers all the floor space in the sitting room with it.

“No funny business,” he says sternly, mostly to Louis for some reason. “My parents have to sleep on that.”

“Oh my God, Zayn,” Louis says, and Zayn stares him down. “Cross my heart, Jesus.”

“Okay then,” Zayn says. “I have to get this one to bed – ”

“Suuuure you do,” Louis says, and Perrie giggles.

“But make yourselves at home, Louis knows where everything is. You can watch whatever’s there if you like, and there are blankets and pillows in the linen cupboard – ”

“Wanna sleep, Zayn,” Perrie says. She starts pulling him out of the room.

“Oh! No smoking in the house or my parents’ll blame me!” Zayn cries before a door closes.

“Thanks,” Harry calls after him.

Niall’s already starfished across the mattress. Louis laughs at him. “The linen cupboard’s here, c’mon,” he says, and he opens up a door just down the hallway. They end up getting out sheets, because it’s too hot for blankets, and enough pillows for the three of them. Harry hopes Niall’s asleep so they can drop them on him and return the favour from earlier, but he’s up and looking at the DVD shelves.

“I wanna watch a movie,” Niall says. “He’s got the newest Bond!”

Harry groans, and then he laughs because Louis’s groaning too.

Somehow, five minutes later, Bond’s on the telly and Niall’s munching happily on some crisps Louis found in the kitchen. Harry can’t really complain, though, because he’s sharing the sofa with Louis and their arms are brushing together. It’s not the same as cuddling, but Harry will take literally anything he can get.

*

“Is Niall asleep?” Louis asks in disbelief. The movie’s only been on for about twenty minutes.

Harry leans down to check, and sure enough, Niall’s snoring away, crisps falling out of the packet across his stomach. Harry grabs the bag and puts it on the coffee table.

“You don’t want to watch this, do you?” Louis asks.

“No,” Harry says. “Seen it a million times.”

“Me too,” Louis says, and he turns the movie off. “Rather talk to you some more, if’m honest. How are you feeling?”

“Fairly sober,” Harry says. “Bit embarrassed.”

Louis frowns. “Why?”

“I dunno, I’m a bit of a lightweight, aren’t I? And I’m an affectionate drunk, clearly. I shouldn’t drink around people I’m just getting to know.”

“I dunno,” Louis says, a smile spreading across his face. “I liked it. Fast-tracked all the initial awkwardness, didn’t it? I like that, I’d rather just jump in and pretend we’re best friends. S’easier.”

Harry's never found it hard to make friends, but he supposes he understands that. “Well, as long as you don’t think I’m a complete loser,” he says.

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Louis says, smirking, and Harry whacks him with his pillow.

Louis splutters. “You really don’t want to start a pillow war with me, Styles,” he warns, and Harry glances at Niall and very much doesn’t want to wake him up.

“You’re right,” Harry says, turning so he's facing Louis and putting his pillow back behind him, between his back and the arm of the sofa. “I’m very sorry.”

“I know how you can make it up to me,” Louis says, turning to face Harry as well. The butterflies in Harry’s stomach come alive, because that sounds so suggestive, but Louis just grins. “You have to play Truth or Dare.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Louieee,” he says.

“Do you really want to get in a pillow fight with someone who has four younger sisters?” Louis asks. “I warn you, I fight dirty.”

That takes Harry’s mind to places he really doesn’t want it to go, so he sighs. “Fine.”

“You’re first.”

“Truth.”

“Boring,” Louis frowns. “Um... How do you know Niall?”

Harry makes a face. If Louis just wants to ask him questions, he can. “We met in primary, year four I think. Niall had just moved over from Ireland. He had the thickest accent and kids weren’t very nice to him, especially not when they found out his parents had just won the lottery. People are real jerks about new money, and their kids can be too. I didn’t understand it, though, and I thought he was fascinating. And he’s always been so friendly, it’s impossible not to love him. Truth or dare.”

“Oh,” Louis says, off guard. “Um. Dare.”

“Um,” Harry says. All he can come up with is _I dare you to kiss me_. He looks down, and the tattoos on Louis’s arm catch his eye. “Oh! I dare you to explain all your tattoos to me.”

“Christ, Harold,” Louis says, and he sounds exasperated but Harry’s insides sparkle at the nickname. “That’ll take ages. Well, alright, I have this little skateboarding lad here,” he turns his arm to show Harry. “He’s the first one I got, Zayn did it.”

“Wait, he _did_ it?” Harry’s shocked.

“Yeah, he’d just learned how and he wanted to show off,” Louis says. “He’s done a lot of mine, actually. So the lad himself doesn’t mean much, I just liked the idea ‘cause skateboarding’s a big thing for me. Most of them don’t mean much, if I’m honest. Zayn did the Pacman and the naughts and crosses, I just liked the idea of them. We were fairly high. Oh, and this crest here for the footy team I support. Those are all newer though, the older ones he’s done are all here, the cup of tea and the bomb and all that, that was mostly him learning.”

Harry’s fascinated, his hands hovering above Louis’s arm because he’s not sure if he can touch. He can’t believe Zayn did this, how fearless Louis must be to let him. His skin itches, and he really wants some of his own, wishes he had his own sleeve to match.

“You know I love tea though,” Louis’s saying, and Harry looks up to share a grin. “So the teacup represents me, and the bomb is for Zayn because he insisted – ”

“Because he’s the bomb?” Harry guesses, thoroughly amused.

“Yep,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “And there’s a bear for my mum, and all these other little ones are for my sisters, just things they like. Oh, and Zayn did The Rogue on my ankles.” He sticks his legs out and rolls up his jeans so Harry can see. “That’s our band, I think I told you about it?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, fascinated by the dark ink on Louis’s delicate ankles. Fuck.

“Um, so, the rest were done by our friend Tom, who really is a proper tattoo artist. I love Spiderman so I’ve got a web on my leg, d’you wanna see that?”

“Yes,” Harry says immediately, then wonders where on his leg and if that means he’ll take his pants off, and his brain blanks for a moment. Then Louis’s rolling up his pant leg some more. It’s a struggle, but he finally reveals a decent sized web on the middle of his calf. It’s much nicer than the tattoos Zayn had done.

“That’s really cool,” Harry says. “The best Christmas present I ever got was a Spiderman car you could ride in.”

Probably not the most appropriate response, but Louis just laughs, clearly surprised, and ruffles Harry’s hair.

“So,” Harry says, trying to deflect attention from his inability to communicate. “You’ve got tattoos for skateboarding and footy, what about music? Isn’t that your biggest passion?”

“Aw, you’ve been paying attention,” Louis coos, making fun, and Harry flushes. Louis looks like he’s pleased anyway though, and he says, “Well, aside from the band tattoo, yeah, you have a point. Here,” he lifts up his arm and shows Harry four thick dark rectangles on the inside of his bicep. “It’s the Black Flag logo. One of the most influential punk bands. It’s not very original, but I don’t care. I’ll probably get other music related tattoos, like, I know I want lyrics but I haven’t decided which yet.”

Harry nods. That’s cool. “Can I touch?” he asks finally. It feels like he’s been waiting hours.

“Yeah, of course,” Louis says, laughter in his voice. Harry runs his fingers over the rectangles, and like – it doesn’t feel any different to the rest of Louis’s skin, but it feels like it should, and Harry just loves it, more than he’d ever expected he would.

“Wow,” he says. “I really want a tattoo.”

Louis laughs. “Maybe wait til you’re one hundred per cent sober to make that decision,” he jokes. “But I’m happy to go with you if you ever want.”

Harry’s stomach flops at the idea, and there’s suddenly nothing he’s ever wanted more in his life.

“So,” Louis says, rolling up his shirt sleeve. “This is my best one.” He turns so Harry can see, and there is a huge realistic deer head on his upper arm.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry says, in awe. “Your friend did that?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, obviously proud. “S’my favourite. For now, anyway.”

Harry touches it almost reverently. He likes it so much. “What’s it mean?”

“Nothing really,” Louis says. “Just saw the picture and liked it. Oh! I do have a lyrics tattoo, I always forget it.” He pulls up his shirt and exposes his cute little tummy, and Harry almost has an aneurysm. Louis stretches out so Harry can read the writing on his hip.

“Anarchy in the UK?” he questions, unable to stop smiling, and Louis drops back into his original position and covers his face.

“I know,” he says through his fingers. “It’s so embarrassing, it’s the only one I got from a proper tattoo shop. I was about your age and with Zayn and high, and I got this and he got London Calling. He probably has more embarrassing tattoos than I do, that’s my only solace.”

“Well, I like it,” Harry says. “It’s a marker of who you once were, even if you’re not this person forever, yeah? I think even if tattoos aren’t significant, they’re a reminder of a point in your life. Now you’re not ever gonna forget how important the Sex Pistols were to you.”

He’s grinning when he says it, and Louis shoves him. “I’m not even that into the Sex Pistols,” he grumbles. “I mean, I like them more than The Clash, and we just wanted old school punk songs that referenced England, you know? But they’re so low on my list of favourite bands.” He makes a frustrated sound and Harry pats his head.

“I still like it,” he says.

“Of course you do,” Louis says. “Truth or dare.”

“Oh,” Harry says. His brain’s still a bit stuck on tattoos and punk bands and Louis’s skin. “Um. Dare,” he decides, because he doesn’t want to be boring.

“Yessss,” Louis says, his eyes actually sparkling. “I dare you to walk in on Zayn and Perrie.”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “ _Louis_ ,” he says. “What if they’re – oh my God.”

Louis genuinely cackles. He looks so pleased with himself, Harry just can’t refuse. He sighs and hauls himself up.

“Third door to your left,” Louis says, and Harry makes his way, very slowly, across the sitting room and down the hallway.

The door is spray-painted with all sorts of colours, along with Zayn’s name in large letters and a sign that says Keep Out. Harry has never wanted to listen to a sign this much. He stares at the door for a century, before finally screwing up all his courage and twisting it open.

It’s dark. It’s quiet. Nobody yells at him, and as his eyes adjust to the dim light spilling in from behind him, he makes out Zayn’s bed and two figures lying in it, completely still.

They’re asleep. How anti-climatic.

Harry closes the door and goes back to the sitting room. Louis’s frowning.

“They were asleep,” Harry explains.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Trust Zayn. How dreadfully boring.”

Harry jumps back onto the sofa. “Truth or dare,” he says cheerfully.

“Dare,” Louis says.

Harry tries to think of a good one. He’s heard of a game through friends of friends that might work. “Okay. I dare you, to pick a random number in your contacts, and text them that you’re in love with them.”

Louis looks impressed. “Interesting,” he says. He gets out his phone – Harry feels a bit guilty for being surprised that he has an iPhone – and gets to his address book. “How do I pick the number?”

“Hm,” Harry says. “The... fifteenth one.” He has no idea how many contacts Louis has, obviously, but that should be a safe bet.

“Okay,” Louis says. He concentrates on counting his contacts, his face lit up from the glow of his mobile, and Harry really wants to bite his lip ring.

He might still be a bit drunker than he thought.

“Right,” Louis says, giggling a bit. It's so cute. “It’s my mate Oli. Okay.” He starts typing, smiling to himself, and Harry’s content to just watch him. “How’s this? ‘Hey mate, sorry to be telling you like this but I can’t keep it in any longer. I’m in love with you’ - ” Harry’s not going to pretend his heart doesn’t speed up a bit just hearing Louis say those words - “‘and I have been for ages. I dream about touching your luscious ginger hair every night.’” Louis stops to have another giggle, and Harry doesn’t know who this guy is but he laughs too. “‘I know you probably don’t feel the same and I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship but if I have any chance with you at all please let me know. Sweet dreams my love, ex ex ex.’” He grins at Harry. “Pretty good, yeah?”

“Very convincing,” Harry agrees. “Dare thoroughly fulfilled.”

“Wicked,” Louis says, hitting ‘send’ on his phone. “He’s gonna be so confused, I love it.” He grins, and Harry grins back, then Louis puts his phone back in his pocket. “Truth or dare?”

Harry frowns thoughtfully. Much as he wants to be interesting and fun, he’s a bit worried about the crazy dares Louis could come up with. And he’s getting tired. “Truth.”

“So, so boring,” Louis says with a sigh, then spends a few seconds thinking. “Okay. Favourite and least favourite thing about your family?”

“Hmm,” Harry says. He has to think a fair bit on that. “Well, my favourite is probably how close we are. Like, they’re really supportive and we don’t lie to each other and, I dunno, we just get on well. I know it’s dumb but especially over the last year or so, I really enjoy being around them. That’s probably really uncool.”

He’d feel much worse for admitting something like that – that he actually loves his family – were it not for the lovely smile Louis’s giving him.

“It’s not,” Louis says. “It’s really nice. Everyone should be like that.”

“I s’pose,” Harry says, flushing and unable to think of a good reply. “And my least favourite... I dunno. There really isn’t anything big? Like, just little things, like Gemma’s bossy and she thinks she’s my mum, but that’s probably normal big sister stuff. And my mum wants me to be her baby forever, but I think that’s normal too. And, I mean, Robin’s not my real dad but we’re still pretty close. I guess on the rare occasion I’ll feel uncomfortable going to him for stuff that might be easy to go to your real dad for.” He pauses. “Sorry, that’s a terrible answer.”

“Not if it’s the truth,” Louis says. “I’m just disappointed your family isn’t full of secrets and drama. TV led me to believe all you rich people had the most disastrous home lives.”

“I’m sorry to spoil the illusion,” Harry says seriously.

“I’ll let it slide this time,” Louis says. “What about your real dad?”

Harry shrugs. “He visits a few times a year. It’s fine. My parents split when I was quite young so it wasn’t a huge loss.”

Louis nods. He looks pensive, and Harry wants to know his story, so he asks truth or dare.

“Truth,” Louis says quietly, which only encourages Harry.

“What are your parents like?”

“My mum’s the best,” Louis says quickly. “She’s a nurse and she’s really supportive and she loves me so much, we’re pretty close. Um, my dad took off when I was a baby. I’ve never met him.”

Harry’s stomach drops and he feels so guilty. “Lou, I’m so sorry,” he says, even though he doesn’t really know what he’s apologising for. Rubbing his perfect family in Louis’s face, maybe?

Louis smiles, though. “It’s okay,” he says. “I wanted to know about your family. And it’s not a huge loss, like you said. It’s more that – I have a stepdad too? He’s the dad to my sisters, and he adopted me, but he and my mum got divorced a couple years ago. I barely see him now, he doesn’t really approve of who I am anymore.” Louis frowns hard, and Harry’s heart hurts. “Mum’s seeing a new guy, he’s the father of the twins she’s pregnant with? He seems pretty decent so I hope that lasts.”

“Me too,” Harry says helplessly, at a loss for anything to say.

“It’s weird,” Louis says. “Part of me thinks I was the reason they broke up, and I felt so guilty obviously, but then Mum wouldn’t’ve met Dan and I wouldn’t have more siblings on the way. She seems really happy now. I wish I could just let it go.”

“It’s okay if it takes some time,” Harry says. “But I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. They’re the adults, not you. Their relationship isn’t your responsibility.”

Louis stares at him. “How are you wiser than me? That’s not on!”

Harry just grins and shrugs, trying to look as innocent as he can. It must work, because Louis shakes his head and asks him truth or dare.

“Truth,” Harry says, tipping to the side so he’s resting more against the back of the sofa. He’s feeling really tired now.

Louis’s giving him this soft look, which is such a contrast to his eyeliner and the rings on his face that it makes Harry fall for him even harder.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” Louis asks quietly, and for some reason he seems just the tiniest bit vulnerable.

Then Harry realises they’ve spent most of the night together, not really doing anything in particular, and he guesses that when Louis invites people to parties, things usually get a tad wilder. Maybe he’s just as unused to whatever this is as Harry is.

“Yeah,” Harry says, smiling a bit. “I really did. It was nice.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. He’s smiling too. “I thought so too. I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” says Harry, and then he yawns, and Louis pokes him.

“Get on the floor and go to sleep, Harold, Jesus,” he says, and all Harry wants is to do as he says.

Niall’s rolled over onto his stomach at some point, so he’s not hogging the middle of the mattress anymore. Harry rolls off the sofa and into the empty space, wrapping himself in sheets and feeling too sleepy to care about how weird sleeping in his clothes is.

He hears Louis getting comfortable behind him, and the last thing he hears before he nods off is Louis softly wishing him goodnight.

*

Louis’s gone when he wakes up the next day, but Perrie and Niall are in the kitchen. They’re both eating cereal when Harry walks in, rubbing his eyes and trying to figure out if the night before really happened or if it was just a wonderful dream.

“Morning,” Perrie says brightly. She’s far too chipper for how drunk he remembers her being. It’s a bit weird to look at her actually, all her makeup is scrubbed off and she’s just wearing a t-shirt and shorts, and she looks so different. Like, she still has her nose ring and her pink hair and tattoos, obviously, but there’s something very un-punk about her now compared to last night. It just feels weird.

“Morning,” Harry says belatedly. “Time’s it, anyway? Where’s Louis? And Zayn?”

Niall laughs at him and points to the clock on the wall. “Almost two, sleeping beauty,” he says. Harry doesn’t remember the last time he slept so late.

“Zayn’s still asleep,” Perrie says. “He’ll be at least another hour, bless him. And Louis went to work. Said he didn’t wanna wake you, but to say goodbye for him. Want some cereal?”

*

“I don’t know what even happened last night,” Harry says once he and Niall are at his place. Gemma’s outside with Lou and Sam again, so Harry’s dragged Niall up to his room.

“You don’t remember? Thought you drank less than me,” Niall says, looking confused.

“No, I remember,” Harry says. “I’m just – it’s so weird? Maybe it was the alcohol – ”

“Or the pot smoke,” Niall offers helpfully, and _right_ , that’d be why his memories of inside the party were so hazy then.

“Yeah, but it was just so easy with him? I felt like I’d known him forever. Like, I still had the butterflies, but I – ”

“He gives you _butterflies_?” Niall interrupts, grinning wide. “Mate, that is adorable.”

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles. “I’m just saying, it was weird. He wasn’t intimidating or like, aloof, like you’d expect, it was like he – I dunno, like he actually likes me?”

Niall squints at him. “Well, why wouldn’t he?”

“I dunno, look at him,” Harry says, frowning. He doesn’t know how to put it into words, the whole thing’s such a mess in his head. “We’re from different worlds, aren’t we?”

“So what?” Niall says, like that’s a perfectly valid argument. “Haz, I _was_ looking at him. And he was always looking at you.”

“What? No he wasn’t,” Harry says. That can’t be true.

“He was, and he’d have this look, like he couldn’t believe you were real or somethin’,” Niall says. “I’d bet a million dollars that he likes you too.”

“That’s crazy,” Harry says, not believing it for a second. “Last night was crazy, this is all crazy. It shouldn’t be this easy to be friends with him, let alone...”

“Well, okay, but I bet he wouldn’t expect you to like him either,” Niall points out. “So yeah, it’s unexpected, but that doesn’t make it impossible.”

That’s a fairly good point. While Harry’s thinking about it, Niall’s phone chimes.

“Barbara’s here,” Niall says. “Can we go in the pool now? I miss it _so much_.”

Harry has to laugh at how wistful he looks, and they go downstairs and meet Barbara and spend the day in the pool. It’s so like how it was before Louis that it manages to keep Harry’s mind at least somewhat preoccupied.

*

Two days later, and he’s still very fixated on Louis. Harry hasn’t seen him again, he doesn’t know how to go about initiating that, but they have texted a little bit. It started with Louis sending a ‘hope you’re feeling okay’ after the party, and has escalated to random messages throughout the day whenever they’re bored. Like, yesterday Louis watched Brave with his sisters, and Harry knows now that as much as Louis loves them being on school holidays, he wishes it involved less Disney.

He didn’t tell Louis that Brave is one of his favourite movies.

Thanks to their texting, Harry also knows that Louis works a day shift on Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and he spends the other days babysitting his younger sisters. It’s Tuesday, and Harry’s at the shops in town.

He’s definitely not stalking Louis. He’s _not_. He just happens to have decided to buy some more t-shirts, because his options in that department are definitely lacking, and there are places near Louis’s music shop that sell cool t-shirts. And it just so happens he’s here on a day Louis’s working. It’s a coincidence.

Never mind that usually he’d go to the Plaza closer to his house, and he wouldn’t go alone. Semantics.

He pokes a hole through that entire theory by going straight to Louis’s shop as soon as he leaves his car. He probably shouldn’t, because he’s wearing that mermaid shirt from Coney Island so he probably looks a bit silly, but he’s pretty much incapable of being in a place where Louis is and not going to him. He feels drawn to him, like they’re magnets or something.

Harry hasn’t even known him a week. Sometimes he worries himself.

The shop Louis works in is small, but it looks cool. The walls are covered in awesome artwork and band posters, and Harry knows they’ve got an unusually large record collection – some of his friends are collectors and he knows they go here. He’s considering starting a collection himself; maybe that’s what he’ll tell Louis he’s looking for.

Speaking of, Louis’s sitting at the till. The shop’s fairly empty, and Louis’s on his phone with his feet up on the counter. The heels on his boots are huge; Harry thinks if he stood up, he’d actually be taller than Harry. The thought makes his stomach flip.

Or maybe it’s just seeing Louis again that does it. With a few days’ distance Harry had thought maybe his memories were exaggerated, but Louis is even more beautiful than he remembers. It’s frankly ridiculous.

The shop actually has a bell above the door that goes off when Harry walks in. Louis looks up, and his bored expression slips right off. His face actually lights up, which is the biggest ego boost Harry’s ever had.

“Curly!” Louis cries, dropping his feet off the counter and sitting up. Harry’s pretty sure _all_ of his insides flip at the nickname. It takes everything he has to be smooth as he approaches the till and to not knock over every display he passes.

“Hi,” Harry says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s got a massive smile on his face. “What’re you doing in my shop, you hooligan?” he says, and Harry can’t help laughing, because honestly. That’s the last thing he is.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you,” he says, and is he imagining it or did Louis’s smile just get even bigger? “Or maybe I’m thinking of starting a record collection.”

“Maybe you’re full of shit,” Louis says.

“Heeeey,” Harry says. “Both are true! But I’m also shopping for new shirts, thought I’d drop in.” He tugs on his shirt. “Can you tell how necessary it is?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “I dunno, mermaids suit you. Plus it fits nicely.” And then he _winks_.

Harry might die. He has to look away so he doesn’t fall into a flustered mess, so he studies the wall behind Louis’s head. And, hey – there’s a poster for a show that has Louis’s band’s name on.

“Isn’t that your band?” he says, pointing.

“What?” Louis turns. “Oh, yeah. We’re playing a gig on Friday.” He turns back to Harry with a proud grin. “You could come, if you want?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Yeah, definitely. Of course.”

Louis absolutely lights up, even more so than when Harry walked in. For the first time, Harry genuinely gives a tiny bit of weight to Niall’s suggestion.

Louis grabs a smaller version of the poster from under the desk. “Here, I’ve been sticking these in the customers’ bags,” he says. “Don’t tell me boss.”

Harry giggles. “Okay,” he says, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket.

“Oh!” Louis says, pointing at Harry. “You got me in trouble, by the way! My mate Oli fell for your little prank, he really thought I was in love with him!”

Harry bursts into laughter. “I’m sorry?” he manages.

“You should be!” Louis says, but he’s clearly fighting a laugh himself. “I’d forgotten all about it when I saw him, and he was treating me like I’m delicate, like, let me down proper gently. I just about died laughing, so, thanks for that.”

“You’re very welcome,” Harry grins.

“You’re a menace, Harry Styles,” Louis says.

It occurs to him then, for the first time, that the dare could have gone a very different way – Louis could’ve actually had feelings for the person he'd texted, and they could’ve returned them, and they could’ve gotten together and it would’ve been all Harry’s fault. He can feel the smile dropping off his face.

He also still has no idea if Louis even likes boys. The fact that his friend believed he could be in love with him surely implies that he does?

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks. “You’re all frowny.”

“Nothing,” Harry says quickly, and then one of the customers conveniently comes up to get Louis’s help, and Harry ducks over to look at the records and try to figure out how to possibly find out Louis’s sexuality.

Louis has his hands full with customers after that, so Harry leaves with a promise to text him later. He spends the afternoon buying an obscene amount of new clothes, and if a good majority of them come from the charity shop and the alternative clothing shop, well, that doesn’t mean much of anything.

*

Over the next few days, Harry doesn’t see Louis. He spends those days freaking out to Niall, finally explaining everything to Barbara, texting Louis, and preparing himself for his parents’ return. Niall tells him he’s making a big deal out of nothing, but agrees to go to Louis’s band’s show with him. Barbara says he should’ve told Louis how he felt at the party, but she approves of his recent clothing purchases, and she says she’ll come to the gig as well. Texting Louis is obviously the highlight of his day, because Louis is funny and brilliant, and he’s apparently taken to spending most of his shifts at work texting Harry. Harry sends him a lot of knock knock jokes, emojis, and things his sister or Niall say. He hopes Louis can see that that’s his flirtation technique, but he’s not sure. One time he just sends Louis three of the hearts with arrows through them, surely that’s obvious?

Louis had replied with the winky face poking its tongue out. Harry doesn’t know what that meant.

Getting the house ready for his parents is much less complicated. Their housekeeper has kept it fairly neat, after all, but Harry takes a vacuum to the common areas and gives the kitchen and bathroom a thorough cleaning as well. Gemma calls him a suck-up, but he just wants to do something nice. And maybe he’s stress cleaning, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Anyway, his mum and Robin come home Friday morning. Harry’s actually really happy they’re back. He’s gotten used to coming and going as he pleases and having his friends over at all hours, but he’s also really missed his mum. They have lunch together, the four of them, and his mum and Robin tell them all about France, which sounds absolutely wonderful but nowhere near as wonderful as meeting Louis.

He doesn’t tell them that, of course.

*

Harry is bursting with anticipation in the taxi to the pub Louis’s playing at. They’re not bothering with cars, because he, Niall, and Barbara all want to drink. This is their brilliant time-honoured strategy.

“Calm down,” Barbara says after his leg jostles hers for the tenth time. “You look good – ”

“You look cool, more importantly,” Niall puts in, which. Harry couldn’t’ve done it without their help. He’d originally been wearing the Ramones shirt he bought on Tuesday, but Barbara had forced it off as soon as she’d seen him.

“You’re going to a punk show and you don’t know anything about punk,” she’d said, rummaging through his other shirts. “You can’t wear a bloody _Ramones_ shirt.”

He’d ended up in a plain white shirt – nobody can judge that, according to Barbara – and the new jeans he’d bought. They’re black and tight and artfully torn, so he at least looks a little bit grungey. He thinks.

“You look cool,” Barbara reiterates. “You’re gonna have a good time, babe. Believe me.”

She takes his hand, and Niall reaches across her to put his hand on top, which makes Harry giggle.

Yeah. It’ll be good.

*

They’re early. The bar is fairly empty, though Harry can see Louis and Zayn at the back, helping set up equipment. Before Harry can even dither on going over, Niall makes a beeline for them. Harry can’t say he’s not grateful.

Perrie’s there too, along with another girl and a guy who Harry vaguely remembers from the party. Perrie sees them first, and she smiles from where she’s tuning a guitar.

“Hi guys!” she says brightly, and that gets Zayn and Louis’s attention. After Louis turns around, he beams the same way he did in the music shop, and Harry goes all wobbly-kneed because _god_ , he looks hot.

His eyeliner makes his eyes look so blue, and his hair is all spiked up around the side and back in a way that sort of reminds Harry of a cockatoo. A sexy cockatoo. He’s still got his cute fringe, though, and he’s got this black denim vest on over a ripped white t-shirt, the shirt says Rancid and there’s a logo, but Harry’s more preoccupied by the slivers of skin he can see through the tears.

Harry’s so busy checking him out that he doesn’t even shove Niall when he hears him whisper to Barbara, “Look at the fuckin’ look on his face, and Harry thinks he’s not interested.”

“Harry!” Louis says, effectively wiping Niall and Barbara out of Harry’s mind. Louis jumps over a small amp that’s in the way and then _actually hugs Harry hello_ , and he smells like hairspray and smoke and a sort of woodsy aftershave. Harry feels faint.

He manages to pull himself together and introduce Louis to Barbara, and then Louis drags him over to meet the people he doesn’t know – Leigh Anne, their drummer, and Stan, the guitarist. Perrie also plays guitar, Louis says, and Zayn plays bass and sings backup.

“I’m the one who’s put up with him longest,” is the first thing Stan says to Harry, like it’s something to be proud of. Harry’s pretty sure it’s just something to be jealous of, himself.

“Think yourself lucky, Stanley,” Louis says, and then a guy, presumably from the pub, comes up and says he wants to do mic checks.

“I’ll get out of your way,” Harry says. “But I’ll see you after? And, like, um – break a leg?”

Louis grins, and Stan groans and mumbles about something being too much to deal with, but Harry doesn’t care about that because Louis _kisses his cheek_.

He’s pretty sure he’s floating a good few inches off the ground when he collects Barbara and Niall from Zayn and takes them to the bar.

*

Louis is _so fucking attractive_. Harry seriously wants to climb onstage and drag him away from the eyes of all these screaming people and lick every inch of his perfect fucking body.

His singing is more like yelling, if not screaming, and usually that’s not Harry’s thing but right now he thinks Louis’s voice might kill him. Plus he’s wearing these sinful tight black jeans which make his arse look fucking glorious, which Harry hadn’t gotten a chance to see before but now cannot stop staring at. Really though, the sexiest thing of all is the way he just owns the stage, playing off a crowd of people reaching for him like he knows he deserves it.

Harry’s never been so attracted to a performer before, not even when he saw Coldplay, and his crush on Chris Martin is bulletproof.

“Fuck it,” Harry says to Barbara. He has to yell for her to hear. “I’m gonna sleep with him.”

She cheers, and Harry feels like cheering too. Because really, if Louis doesn’t feel the same it’s better he find out sooner rather than later, and as far as waiting for a special person goes – well, he’s not sure that there’s anyone in the world more special than Louis.

He’s gonna do it.

The set goes well, Harry thinks. The crowd definitely enjoys it. Personally, he thinks he prefers music he can understand the lyrics to, but they do have a couple songs where Louis actually sings, and Harry really loved those. He just loves Louis’s voice, no matter what it’s doing.

Harry goes up to the stage while they’re packing up their things. The crowd is starting to disperse, though Harry knows there’s another band on soon, so he guesses this is the part where everyone gets drinks and goes to the toilet. Louis doesn’t have anything to pack, so he’s just making a nuisance of himself by getting in Leigh Anne’s way when Harry walks up.

He jumps up onto the stage, completely finished with any sort of shyness. He knows what he wants now, he’s doing away with all of that.

“Hi,” Harry says when he reaches Louis, who jumps and turns around.

Louis’s grin is like sunshine. “Hi!” he says. “What did you think?”

“You were amazing,” Harry says honestly. His voice is all deep and hoarse, which should maybe be embarrassing, but he doesn’t care.

Louis looks beside himself. “Really?” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I love your voice, and I love how you just – you make the stage your own. Everyone wanted you.”

Louis’s eyes go dark under the harsh stage lights in a way that makes Harry shiver. “Everyone?” he asks.

Harry swallows. “Everyone,” he says.

“Christ,” Louis says, and Harry’s pretty sure that’s the confirmation he’s been looking for. Louis looks at his band, who are almost finished packing up, then back to Harry. “You should come to the party I’m having tonight, yeah? My sisters are at Mark’s and Mum’s going to Dan’s so I can have the place to myself. It’s just gonna be small, like, just the band and our close friends, but – will you come?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says.

“You can ride with us if you want, unless you need to go with your friends,” Louis says, and Harry looks back to where he’d left Barbara and Niall – who are making out against the bar.

“I think they’ll be fine without me,” Harry says, and Louis looks happier than Harry’s maybe ever seen him.

“Cool,” Louis says. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll find you, yeah?”

“Okay,” Harry says, and the anticipation kind of threatens to choke him for a minute, but he manages to get off the stage and back to his friends.

“Normally I’d invite you along,” he tells them, after they’ve disconnected and he’s explained. “It’s just...”

“You’re going to be plastered to Louis’s side for the rest of the night anyhow?” Niall says, smirking. “Yeah, no worries.”

“It’s fine,” Barbara adds. “Think we’re cool with going home.” There’s a clear implication there, and Niall gets all flustered. It’s pretty funny.

That’s when Louis joins them, and after Niall and Barbara enthuse about his band – which is a bit odd, because Harry really didn’t expect them to like this music that much – they make some very flimsy excuses and leave.

“Are they...” Louis says.

“Shagging? Yeah,” says Harry. “Will they ever be together for real? Who knows.”

Louis laughs a bit. “Okay then,” he says. “We’re gonna hang out here for awhile. Wanna find Zayn?”

*

The next band is a lot like Louis’s, but Harry likes them a lot less. Harry has no idea if he even actually likes punk music at this point. He thinks the anti-establishmentarianism is pretty cool, but the scream-singing might only be his thing when Louis does it.

It’s definitely fun, though, bopping along in the crowd with Louis and Zayn and Perrie and their other friends. It’s way more high-energy than any other concert Harry’s been to, he likes that a lot. They all sort of lose themselves in the crowd, but Louis keeps his hand on Harry’s arm like he doesn’t want to lose _him_ , which is kind of beautiful, Harry thinks.

He’s sweaty afterwards, but so’s everyone else. Harry’s never found sweat as sexy as he does on Louis, it’s a genuine problem. They pile into the van Louis’s band uses, and there are probably more of them than is actually safe, but Harry’s obviously not going to point that out.

The party’s fun, too. Harry decides not to drink – he’d only had a beer at the pub, and he wants to be sober. He does try weed for the first time, though, taking a few drags off Zayn’s joint. He manages not to cough, which he’s very proud of, and it burns a bit but it’s not terrible. He doesn’t feel much different for a while, but then he notices he’s rubbing his fingers along his trouser legs because the denim feels nice, and he thinks he might be a tiny bit affected.

Louis doesn’t get as wasted as the rest of his friends, either, not by a long shot, which gives Harry an odd sort of hope that something might happen between them. So does the hand Louis keeps around Harry’s waist at all times, like he doesn’t want to lose him, or like he wants everyone to know he’s with him.

And when he finally meets Oli, the lad he’d made Louis text last weekend, and he raises his eyebrows and says, “So _you’re_ Harry,” all suggestive, and Louis kicks him to shut him up – that definitely gives him hope.

“Thanks for giving me a solid twelve hours of thinking this one’s in love with me,” Oli says, but he’s smiling.

“No idea what gave you that impression, honestly, you’re so full of yourself,” Louis says, and Harry laughs while Oli looks offended.

Harry also loves seeing the way Louis treats his friends. He’s different with them, louder and more sarcastic and sometimes dismissive in a way he’s never been with Harry. Harry realises that Louis treats him like he’s special, like his thoughts and experiences are important and valued. It’s not like he doesn’t treat his friends that way too, because it’s obvious how close he is with them, but he doesn’t give them the same lengthy consideration he seems to give Harry. Like, at one point during a discussion with Oli, Louis just tells him that he’s wrong and an idiot, and simply turns his back on the conversation.

They’re chatting amiably again less than ten minutes later, but that’s not the point. Louis’s not – he’s not _mean_ to his friends, and anyone could tell he adores them, but it’s like he has a low level of tolerance for bullshit with them. And Harry, well. Harry knows most people think conversing with him means sifting through a fair bit of bullshit. But Louis doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s a good night in general. He actually really likes Louis’s friends, they’re friendly and funny and interesting, and really very smart. Harry does feel a bit like a fish out of water in their conversations sometimes, but he supposes that’s to be expected with so many people with such different life experiences.

Even with the stuff he can’t really follow, though, like the huge debate Louis and Leigh Anne have over whether certain bands should be considered punk – he can’t even figure out which sides they’re on, let alone have any idea which bands they’re talking about – or when Jesy lectures Stan on intersectional feminism, which is a phrase Harry’s never heard before – he has trouble following the discussion, but he really likes listening to them anyway. They’re passionate and fascinating and Harry agrees with the stuff he thinks they’re saying, he just didn’t have words for it before, and it really makes him think. Like when Zayn talks about how his grandmother thinks he’s straight again ever since he got with Perrie, which leads to a huge group grievance session on bisexual erasure – another phrase Harry had never heard – and Harry feels guilty because he’d assumed Zayn was straight himself. Or when Stan goes on a tirade about how the media and therefore society are controlled by wealthy conservatives, something Harry is obviously aware of but that he knows embarrassingly little about.

It’s all eye-opening, in a way, and it makes him feel a bit stupid despite his first class education, but it’s all stuff he wants to know more about. And they don’t treat him like he’s less than them either, which he very much appreciates – they just seem pleased whenever he agrees with them.

So Harry likes Louis’s friends a lot, but he likes them so much more when it starts getting very late and they start leaving.

“Um,” Louis says to Harry. “Do you wanna stay here? I mean, I can badger Leigh Anne into driving you home, I think she’s still sober, but.” He bites his lip. “You can always stay here.”

Harry feels so warm he might catch fire. “Well, I could also ring a taxi or my sister,” he says reasonably. “But I’d like to stay, if you’ll have me.”

Louis beams. “Yeah,” he says. “Definitely.”

*

Harry has the patience of a saint, he’s pretty sure. It feels like he’s waited a lifetime by the time Louis’s last few friends leave.

“Your house was so tidy before,” Harry says sorrowfully once he and Louis are finally alone. It’s not what he wants to say, but he’s still trying to figure out a better way to say _take me I’m yours_.

Louis snorts. “You should see it normally, it’s a tip,” he says. “I just shoved the girls’ things in their rooms. But I’ll clean this up in the morning.”

“I’ll help,” Harry offers, and Louis’s eyes soften.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he says, and that’s it, Harry can’t take it anymore.

There’s not much space between them anyway, so it’s very easy to lean in and press his lips against Louis’s. He should probably be more nervous about it, but Louis is just so fucking enticing that he can’t bring himself to care.

Except then he does, like, seconds after their mouths touch, and he pulls back, slightly terrified of Louis’s reaction. But Louis just makes this small sound of protest, and his hands are on Harry’s jaw and nudging him back in, and then they kiss for real, and it’s –

It’s everything Harry’s ever wanted. He’s kissed a good handful of people before, but none were like this. It’s like Louis just instinctively kisses the way Harry likes, and Harry just feels so much and wants so much, it’s exhilarating.

Not to mention how much he loves finally getting his mouth on that lip ring and his tongue against Louis’s. It feels like he’s waited forever.

Also, _Louis has a fucking tongue ring_ , which Harry’s failed to notice all this time. He had no idea piercings were such a turn on for him, but the hard metal against Louis’s soft mouth just feels fucking perfect.

Eventually they break apart, and Louis’s staring at him in what looks like wonder. “I didn’t know if you wanted – ” Louis says. “I mean. I didn’t even know if you were into guys.”

“Me either,” Harry says. He can’t stop smiling. “About you, I mean. But I do want. Definitely. Everything.”

Louis kisses him again, and Harry’s pretty sure he wants to spend the rest of their lives connected at the mouth, is that feasible?

“Can we go to my room?” Louis asks. “I really want to get you naked.”

Harry almost chokes on his tongue. “Yeah,” he says. “Yes. Please.”

So Louis shows him to his room, and it’s untidy and the walls are covered in posters, but Harry doesn’t care about anything but getting Louis on the bed. Luckily Louis seems to have the same idea, because he pushes Harry on the bed and climbs on top of him with barely a pause in kisses, and Harry is so overwhelmed by being shoved around and then pinned down underneath Louis, he almost forgets what Louis had said earlier about being naked.

So when Harry’s got his mouth on Louis’s neck and Louis gasps, “I really want to suck your dick, can I,” Harry almost loses his mind.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he says. “Yes. I’m. Please. God.” And then his brain wakes up. “Um. I-I haven’t before, though, just so you know.”

Louis freezes, then hoists himself up on his hands so they’re not so closely pushed together. “You haven’t what?” he says. “Nobody’s ever sucked you off?”

He doesn’t sound judgmental, is the thing, he sounds like he can’t believe it, like everyone in the world is crazy for not falling on Harry’s dick at any given moment. It makes everything so much easier for Harry, from the idea of telling Louis to the idea of someone else actually touching his cock for the first time.

So Harry shakes his head. “I haven’t done much of anything,” he says. “I mean. It’s not really a huge deal, like, I’m just. I just wanted it to feel right, and it never has.”

“That makes sense,” Louis says. “And you’re – you want to now?” He’s so gentle about it, God, and Harry feels like he’s been half-hard all night, as if he’s gonna say no.

“It feels right,” he says.

Louis kisses him again, and Harry can’t have his tongue in his mouth without thinking about it on his cock, Jesus. Louis pulls back to say, “Thank God, I’ve wanted to get my mouth on you everywhere since I first saw you,” and that makes Harry shove his hips up hard.

“Keep talking and I’m not gonna last long,” he gasps.

Louis grins. “Better get to work then,” he says, and then he’s between Harry’s legs. The sight almost makes up for the loss of pressure against his crotch.

Taking Harry’s jeans off is as much of a struggle as it is getting them on, but eventually they’re out of the way. Harry’s cock is tenting his pants so far it’s almost ridiculous.

“I’d really love to tease you right now,” Louis says, and Harry doesn’t know if he knows that just having his face so close to Harry’s dick is a massive tease. “But I think I'm just as desperate for this as you are.”

Harry makes a noise that’s embarrassingly close to a whine, and he wriggles his hips, accidentally brushing his crotch against Louis’s chin.

Louis huffs a laugh. “Okay, okay, I’ll get on with it then,” he says, and he pulls down Harry’s pants just enough to get his cock and balls out. “Fuck,” he says. “It’s gorgeous.”

He sounds fucking enraptured, and looks even more so, which for some reason makes Harry feel stupidly proud.

“Nobody should look like you _and_ have a cock this nice,” Louis says. “It should be against the laws of genetics.”

“Lou,” Harry whines. He’s so past being embarrassed. “Please. _Please_.”

Louis grins up at him and wiggles his eyebrows. “Since you asked nicely,” he says, and then he sinks over Harry’s cock, like, all in one go, right to the back of his throat.

 _Holy fucking Jesus shit_.

Louis is a fucking master at sucking cock. Obviously Harry has nothing to compare him to, but he finds it hard to believe anyone could be better. He’s really good at taking Harry in to the root, the stud on his tongue adds this amazing sensation to the underside of Harry’s dick, he doesn’t seem to have much of a gag reflex, and just when Harry doesn’t think he can take anymore, he pulls off and pays close, loving attention to the head. Louis sucks cock like there’s literally nothing else he’d rather be doing, like Harry’s dick is the best thing he could possibly have in his mouth, like he’s in love with it, and it’s absolutely shameful how quickly Harry comes.

Louis swallows, and his mouth stays on Harry right through the aftershocks, long after he himself would stop wanking, and it’s easily the best orgasm Harry’s ever had.

Harry feels boneless, like he could just melt through the blankets and into Louis’s mattress, so it takes him a moment to notice that Louis’s got his own pants down and is wanking himself off quickly.

“Nooooo,” he says. “Stop.” Louis does, looking up at him with his small hand on his cock (which is so much nicer than Harry’s, honestly, what was he going on about earlier). Harry doesn’t quite know what to do, because he’s pretty nervous about his ability to make another person come, and besides, he doesn’t really want to move. And then all his years of watching porn pay off.

“Fuck my mouth?” he asks hopefully, and Louis’s mouth drops open and he groans and squeezes his dick. Harry’s own cock twitches painfully.

Louis shakes off his trousers and crawls up and sits on Harry’s chest. It should feel silly that they’re still wearing shirts, but Harry can’t bring himself to care, not when Louis’s dick is so close to his face.

He sticks out his tongue, hoping he can reach it without moving his head, but he can’t. He pouts up at Louis, who stares back at him, and Harry sees it, there, exactly what Niall was talking about days ago. Louis’s staring at him like he’s wondering how he’s real.

Thankfully Harry doesn’t have to dwell on Niall for long, because Louis scoots up just a bit further and his cock is resting against Harry’s lips. “Please,” Harry says. “Just fuck my mouth, I want you to, don’t go slow,” and Louis groans, pushing his dick into Harry’s mouth like he needs to shut him up.

It startles Harry how okay he is with that. He might want to ask Louis to choke him with his dick. He thinks maybe that isn’t the thing to say during your first time, however.

Louis’s still gentle, but he’s ruthless as well, and the feeling of being used almost has Harry half-hard again by the time Louis says, “I’m – close, God, can I come on your face?”

He pulls out so Harry can answer, and Harry says, “God, yes,” his voice hoarse.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis says, and Harry closes his eyes and sticks his tongue out just as come spurts across his cheeks and mouth. Surprisingly, he actually sort of likes the taste, maybe because he just likes Louis so much, and – less surprisingly – he _really_ likes the way it makes him feel like a pornstar.

Louis wipes off Harry’s face with some tissues from the bedside table, and then he slumps down on top of him.

“Kiss?” Harry asks, and Louis smiles up at him.

“’Course,” he says, leaning up and starting a long kiss that ends up switching their positions, so Louis’s lying flat on his back and Harry’s curled along his side.

“Can we sleep?” Harry asks eventually, when he feels himself drifting during a kiss, and Louis laughs.

“Yeah,” he says.

Harry snuggles closer, pressing his face into Louis’s chest. They fall asleep with the light on.

*

Harry wakes up in the morning to Louis’s hand in his hair. Louis’s watching him with a small smile on his face.

“Sorry,” Louis says. “You look so cute when you’re asleep, and your hair’s so curly. Couldn’t resist.”

Harry smiles back, leaning into Louis’s hand. God, he loves having his hair played with. “S’okay,” he says. “I like it.”

“Can I kiss you?” Louis asks, and that he even asks, let alone still wants to, has Harry abandoning any concern he may have had about the potential state of his morning breath. Louis tastes like toothpaste anyway, which must mean he’d anticipated this, which makes Harry crawl on top of him and throw aside any second-guesses he could have about the night before or whether Louis actually likes him.

Harry enjoys a particularly lazy snogging session, feeling completely certain that all his feelings from the night before weren’t just a one-off, until Louis’s alarm sounds.

“Shit,” Louis says, and Harry sadly loses Louis’s mouth while he finds his phone and turns off the alarm. “That means my mum’ll be back in an hour. Sorry, love, I have to tidy up the mess in the lounge.” He gives Harry a wistful look, like he really doesn’t want to, and then a hopeful smile. “Raincheck?”

Harry grins. “Yeah,” he says, and then he gets one last kiss in. “Obviously.”

It’s as they roll out of bed that Harry realises he needs to have a wee. He tells Louis he’ll help after he uses the toilet, then has to ask where the toilet is.

He doesn’t see his reflection until he’s washing his hands, and then he almost does a double take. His hair’s absolutely wild, and he’s got love bites all over his neck. He doesn’t know if he’s ever looked so debauched.

When he’s in the hallway, walking towards the sitting room, he hears Louis singing softly to himself, and when Harry gets to the entrance to the room he has to stop and lean against the wall and just admire him. Louis hasn’t noticed him yet, he’s picking up cups and bottles and putting them in a rubbish bag, singing “ _you’re the only one who knows, you slow it down,_ ” and Harry hasn’t quite placed the song, but he’s enamoured with Louis’s lovely, raspy voice. Part of him wishes Louis were in the kind of band where he could sing like this all the time.

Then Harry places the tune, because Louis sings the chorus of The Fray’s Look After You, and honestly, he still has no idea if Louis has proper feelings for him or if this is just a physical thing or whatever, but Harry dares anyone to listen to Louis Tomlinson asking someone to be his baby and offering to look after them in song, while wearing soft pajama pants and a shirt miles too big for him, and to not melt into a puddle of goo.

When he’s finished the chorus, Harry blurts out, “I fancy you so much.”

Louis abruptly stops singing, drops the bag of rubbish, and turns around, his eyes wide. “You what?” he says.

Harry is literally unable to keep his feelings in at this point, and besides, Louis looks stunned, but like, not in a bad way, so Harry says, “I didn’t know how to tell you.” Fuck it, he thinks. “I mean. I know you’re out of my league, like, we’re not even playing the same game, really, I’m probably not at all your type. But I just, I like you so much? I have since the first night, I knew there was something special about you. I just...” he waves his hand uselessly, at a loss.

Louis crosses the room in like, two steps, and kisses Harry before Harry even really knows what’s going on.

It’s a quick kiss, because Louis pulls back and stares at him. “What the fuck are you talking about, out of your league? Are you mad?”

Harry laughs, still a bit nervous. “I dunno, you’re, like, gorgeous, of course – ”

Louis scoffs. “Like you’re not the most beautiful person on the planet, shut the fuck up.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and he feels his face flush. That’s just. That’s a lot. “Um. Well you’re also, you’re just – you’re so cool and brave and whatever, and I’m just this stupid posh kid with too much money.”

Louis laughs, just a bit, like he can’t help it. “Like that isn’t the exact reason you wouldn’t be interested in me? God, Harry, my house is like the size of your living room, I spend my nights screaming at people from a stage or spray-painting buildings, I’m retaking sixth form like an idiot, and we met because I broke into your fucking house.”

Harry’s not sure where he’s going with this. “Does that mean you don’t like me, or,” he manages to say, biting his lip.

Louis literally boggles at him. “We need to get your head checked,” he says. “You’re unfairly beautiful and so lovely and I’ve never got on with anyone so fast, of course I fucking fancy you.”

“Oh,” Harry says faintly. Then Louis kisses him, and Harry’s pretty sure there’s nothing in the world that’s more important.

*

Except the house is still a mess, so they eventually have to break apart and get some cleaning done. And then Harry’s mum rings him in a bit of a panic because he’d forgotten to tell her when he’d be home. She insists that he come home, so Harry ends up leaving before Louis’s mum even gets back.

“Can I see you tonight?” Louis asks.

Harry agrees eagerly, says he’ll text him, and he gets a thorough goodbye kiss, which completely makes up for the disappointed talking-to his mum gives him when he gets home.

*

The next few days are a whirlwind of Louis. Harry’s absurdly glad they met while on holidays, because he has no idea how he’d handle his studies while his every thought is wrapped up around a boy. He’s pretty sure when school does go back, his interest in any of it will be markedly different to how it used to be.

He doesn’t have to worry about that at the moment, though, so he spends Saturday night with Louis, at another one of his friend’s parties, and Sunday hanging around Louis’s shop. He tells his mum and Gemma he’s with Niall, who whines a bit about never seeing him, but Harry’s quite pleased with himself because it forces Niall to spend all his time with Barbara. Harry still has hopes they’ll get their shit together.

Meanwhile, Louis hasn’t gotten sick of him yet, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be sick of Louis. Late Sunday night, because Louis doesn’t have work the next day, Harry tags along with him, Perrie, and Zayn as they graffiti a stencil Zayn’s made onto a building. It’s the office of some member of local parliament who’s been very vocal about his anti-gay views, so the stencil is of a road sign with the silhouettes of two men, like the little men from toilet signs, and they’re holding hands.

It’s like a double date sponsored by Banksy.

“We’ve done a lot of the graffiti around here,” Louis says, holding the torch on his keys up while Zayn sprays on green paint. “You know the rainbow heart on Slate street?”

Harry loves that one. ‘Love knows no gender’ is written around it, and the ‘v’ in love is a triangle. “Yeah,” he says.

“That’s ours,” Louis says. “And the one of the queen with all the tattoos.”

Zayn hands Harry the can of spray paint so he can peel off the stencil. Harry feels weirdly exhilarated at being included.

“Pretty much all of the best street art around here is Zayn’s,” Perrie puts in from where she’s standing lookout.

“Have you seen ‘girls just wanna have fundamental human rights’?” Zayn asks, his concentration still on peeling off the stencil. “That was Perrie.”

“And Jade and Leigh and Jesy,” she says modestly.

“I love that one too!” Harry says. Perrie looks pleased.

Then the stencil’s off and they run away. The whole thing lasts ten minutes, tops, but it’s such a huge rush. Harry sort of wants to do it every night.

He sleeps at Louis’s that night, making sure to let his mum know he won’t be home. It means he finally gets to meet Louis’s mum, who seems a bit surprised by him, he thinks, but by the time she goes to bed it’s like they’re old friends.

He and Louis haven’t done anything sexual since Friday night, but on Sunday night they make out for ages and finally exchange quick handjobs. Harry’s getting closer and closer to being absolutely sure that he wants Louis to fuck him.

He stays on Monday and helps babysit Louis’s sisters while his mum’s at work. He falls in love with Louis’s sisters immediately, and he’s pretty sure it’s mutual if the way they fawn over him is any indication. More than that, though, he loves the way Louis is with his sisters. Every time he thinks he couldn’t be more fascinated, he finds another different side to Louis. It’s amazing.

He finally goes home Monday evening, because he’s feeling guilty about keeping secrets from his family and his mum wants to have a family Scrabble tournament, but on Tuesday he’s back in Louis’s shop. They spend the next few days hanging out at his work, never running out of things to talk about, and at night they watch movies with Louis’s sisters or hang out with his friends. On Thursday night he gets Niall and Barbara to come along to another party, both because he misses them and because Louis puts the idea in his head. He’d never have expected it, but they manage to fit right in with Louis’s friends, and it’s weird, but it’s also really nice.

It probably shouldn’t be surprising. Niall could make friends with a great white shark if he tried.

*

Harry’s at Louis’s again on Friday afternoon when he’s babysitting his sisters, and while they’ve been watching How To Train Your Dragon, he’s been slightly distracted by Louis’s arms in the sleeveless top he’s wearing.

That’s when it hits him.

“I want to get a tattoo,” he says.

Phoebe and Daisy shush him, and Fizzy gives him a look that suggests she thinks he’s a bit barmy. Louis’s staring at him though.

“You what?” he says.

“I dunno,” Harry says, quieter so as not to disrupt the movie. “I’ve thought about it for ages, like a vague thing I wanted some day, and then I met you, and – I dunno. Now I really want one.”

“Well,” Louis says, and his eyes are lit up like this is something he wants too. “I told you, didn’t I, that I’d go with you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. He feels all breathless just at the idea. “D’you think your friend Tom would do it?”

He’d only met Tom the night before, but he seemed like a nice guy and he’d done good work on Louis’s. Plus, it’s not like Harry can go to a shop, and he's not sure how he feels about Zayn doing it. At least Tom's licensed.

“Probably,” Louis says. “Hang on, I’ll text him.”

Twenty minutes later, it’s all sorted. In an hour, Zayn’ll come and take over babysitting, and Harry and Louis’ll go to Tom’s to get Harry’s first ever tattoo.

*

Louis’s a bit alarmed when Harry shows Tom what he wants.

“Haz,” Louis says. “It’s your first tattoo, d’you not want something smaller? Less detailed? In a less sensitive place?”

But Harry’s already thought about all that, and no. This is what he wants. Even though, if the pain doesn’t kill him, his mum definitely will.

“I definitely want this,” he tells Tom, who goes and makes up a stencil.

Louis doesn’t look convinced.

“Hey,” Harry says. “It’s fine if I have to stop and get it finished later. But I don’t mind a bit of pain.”

Louis chokes a bit at that, which is very gratifying. Harry beams at him, and then Louis says, “You’re sure?”

“Very,” Harry says. “Sparrows mate for life, d’you remember?”

Louis’s still blinking at him, actually speechless, when Tom comes back.

And Harry really does like the pain. He’s only got one sparrow fully finished on his collarbone before he considers that yes, he probably was over-estimating his ability to handle this, but not really in the way he thinks Louis was worried about. Because, like, he’s sort of half-hard in his trousers.

He’s really glad he’d chosen looser jeans today, but eventually Louis notices. It’s probably obvious he’s turned on anyway, like, he can feel how flushed his face is. But when Louis makes an aborted laughing sound and then can’t keep his eyes still on Harry’s face, his crotch, or the second bird Tom’s outlining – yeah. He knows. That just makes the whole situation harder, so to speak.

“How’re you going?” Tom asks with a smirk, and oh wonderful, he’s noticed too.

“Fine,” Harry manages. “You can probably finish them today, I can handle it.”

After almost an hour of Tom smirking, Louis staring, and an unrelenting pressure on his chest and throbbing in his groin, Tom wipes away some excess ink and holds up a hand mirror. “How’s that look?”

It takes Harry’s breath away. They’re so pretty, and they’ve got the different eyebrows and sizes just like he’d wanted, and – he’s so overwhelmed. He can’t believe he’s actually done it, but he’s in love with the result.

It’s not a tattoo for Louis, exactly, but it’s not _not_ , either. He’s always loved the symbolism of sparrow tattoos, and he’s had this idea for years that if he ever had a forever kind of feeling about someone, that he’d get them. And, like, it’s too soon to put too much weight on this thing with Louis, but at the same time, he just has this feeling, like Louis is meant to be a really huge part of his life. And if it all falls apart and he’s stuck with the tattoo, well, it’s like he’d told Louis ages ago. They’re a record of a time in your life. He knows this is important enough to document.

His chest feels like it’s on fire, also, but then again, Louis pretty much makes him feel like that all the time, so. It’s fitting.

*

They have a string of good luck after they leave Tom’s: Louis’s mum comes home to take the girls off Zayn’s hands, and there’s nobody home when they finally get to Harry’s. Which he honestly thanks God for, because he’s been hard for almost two hours and he’d very much like to have Louis inside him.

When he finally has Louis on his bed, all of their clothes off but their pants and Louis’s shirt, a careful space between their chests, Harry says, “Could you fuck me, please?”

Louis startles like he’s surprised, his mouth drops open and his eyes widen, and he grinds his crotch hard against Harry’s in a way that seems involuntary. _Fuck_. “What?” Louis says, his voice a sort of gasp. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I’ve wanted to since last time, I just – I want you in me so bad – ”

Louis groans, thrusting forward again and dropping his face against Harry’s shoulder. “Me too,” he says. “Shit, you have no idea, and the way you looked when you were getting inked – like you were on another plane of fucking existence – you’re so hot,” and then they’re kissing again, but there was something in his tone that makes Harry think there’s a ‘but’ coming.

Sure enough, Louis slows the kiss down. “We need to talk, though,” he says, and Harry feels a burst of insecurity like he hasn’t felt since before Louis’s gig.

It must be obvious, because Louis says, “It’s not a bad thing,” but he still rolls off of Harry and to the side. “Probably best if I’m not pressed against you, though.”

Harry’s starting to feel distressed. “What is it?” he says. “Do you not, um – do you not want me?”

Louis looks stricken. “Baby, no,” he says, reaching out to stroke Harry’s jaw. “Jesus, literally the opposite, didn’t I just say that? No, it’s, um,” he drops his hand. “I’ve never done this before either?”

He may as well have said he was born on Mars, Harry would probably feel just as gobsmacked. He’d come to the conclusion ages ago that Louis was wildly more experienced than him. “What?” he says, baffled.

“I should have said,” Louis says. He looks sort of embarrassed. “It’s not that I haven’t wanted to do it? Um, I’ve like, I’ve done blowjobs and handies loads of times - ”

Harry makes a face, absolutely hating that idea, which, wow. Apparently having _confirmation_ that other people have touched Louis drives him mad.

Again, Louis must be able to tell, because he leans in and kisses Harry. “I like you better than any of them,” he says, which cheers Harry up a great deal. “But yeah, um, it’s just that whenever I hooked up with anyone, we didn’t have time or the stuff for prep or I just didn’t like them enough, I dunno. Or they wanted to fuck _me_ , and I didn’t want my first time doing that to be rushed at some party or whatever.”

“So basically,” Harry says. “It was never right?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling like he knows what Harry’s getting at.

“And now?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I want you to fuck me,” Harry says.

Louis’s answering grin is filthy, almost wolfish. “Good answer,” he says, pushing Harry back into the pillows and kissing him breathless.

It takes a minute, but eventually Harry has the wherewithal to realise that Louis is still wearing his bloody t-shirt, and that that should really change. He tugs at it, and they separate long enough to pull it over Louis’s head, and then there’s this moment when Louis’s tanned skin is laid out in front of Harry, his small belly and hairless chest, and there’s something in his expression that’s just – Harry sees this brief flash of vulnerability, and it’s not the first time it’s happened, but Harry’s still floored. He has no idea why Louis would feel even the tiniest bit of insecurity – Harry’s still growing out of his baby fat for chrissakes, there’s no way he could compare to this golden god before him.

“You’re so beautiful,” is all he can say, and it’s so inadequate, but Louis gets flustered like he’s heard all of Harry’s thoughts anyway.

Louis pulls off Harry’s underwear in a clear effort to distract him, but it works better when Louis gets around to taking off his own pants. Harry’s pretty sure he’ll never get enough of seeing Louis naked; he wants to staple the image to his eyelids for the rest of his life.

“D’you have lube?” Louis asks, his mouth hovering close to Harry’s cock like he can’t help it. Harry really wants to spend a very, very large amount of time exploring Louis’s fondness for sucking dick.

Right now, though, he concentrates on getting his hand into his bedside table without hitting Louis in the face with his dick. He’s been in this position so many times, albeit slightly different – reaching for the lube while trying not to jostle the laptop on his chest – that he finds it easily enough.

“Well done,” Louis says as Harry hands it to him, only a touch sarcastic. And then he drops his mouth onto Harry’s dick, so Harry lets it go.

He’s so lost in the warm wetness of Louis’s mouth, especially since his cock’s been neglected for a hundred years, that it’s almost a surprise when Louis rubs a wet finger against his hole. He’d completely failed to notice Louis opening the lube or getting it on his fingers.

“You’re – multi-talented,” he barely manages to say, because Louis’s sucking at the head of his dick while his finger nudges inside his arse, okay, it’s a miracle he’s managing to _breathe._

Louis looks up and waggles his eyebrows, only a little ridiculously, and then he pulls off just as he slides his whole finger in.

“ _Holy_ shit,” Harry says, pushing back onto Louis’s hand. He wants Louis’s attention back on his cock, but he’s pretty sure he’s gonna come as soon as Louis gets two fingers in him, and he doesn’t want that. It’s probably best if Louis ignores his cock altogether.

Louis seems to realise that. Or maybe he’s distracted. He’s just wiggling his finger back and forth, staring at Harry’s hole in awe, and it’s just – it’s only one finger, but already it feels so much better than when Harry fingers himself. So much _more_ , somehow.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know what to expect. He can’t predict when Louis works his second finger in, or the way he fucks them in and out. Harry gets lost in it, the way it feels fucking glorious but also his whole body’s aching for _more._

He’s really not expecting it when sparks shoot through him. _Fuck_. Apparently it’s much easier to find his prostate from Louis’s angle.

The sparks just don’t _stop_ , because once Louis realises he’s found it, he rubs at Harry’s prostate relentlessly.

“Oh God oh God oh _God_ ,” Harry says after only a few moments. “Lou, you gotta stop, I’ll come, I – ”

“No you won’t,” Louis says, but he moves his fingers. It takes Harry a second to even hear him. “Don’t come,” Louis says, and then he pushes in a third finger.

It’s even better, closer to the _more_ he’s longing for, and he starts to feel pleasantly stretched. Louis avoids his prostate, which is both a blessing and a curse, and starts thrusting his fingers again, but it’s just a shadow of what Harry wants and he can’t deal with it for long.

“ _Please_ , Lou,” he whimpers. “Fuck me, I don’t care if it hurts, I _want_ it to – ”

“ _God_ ,” Louis says, grinding his fingers in and dropping his head against Harry’s thigh. Harry cries out wordlessly as Louis hits his prostate, probably on accident, and pushes down onto his fingers.

“Please,” Harry says, and he knows he’s never sounded this plaintive in his life.

“Yeah,” Louis says roughly. “Yeah, okay.”

Stopping to find a condom is awkward and annoying, but luckily Louis’s jeans are only at the foot of the bed and he’s apparently got one in his wallet.

“Funny story, that,” Louis says while he opens the packet and rolls it on. “Zayn’s forced me to carry it around for the last week. Dunno what he thinks I’m gonna catch from you.”

“Can we talk about that later,” Harry says, unable to keep his eyes off Louis’s thick, flushed cock as he covers it in lube. “I’d really rather you fucked me right this second.”

Louis startles him by pulling Harry’s legs up so he’s even flatter on his back, his legs around Louis’s waist. “You’re such a little shit,” Louis says, and the way he says it, it sounds like praise.

And then he presses his cock against Harry’s hole, and Harry loses the ability to think. All that matters in the world is the huge pressure inside him as Louis slowly, slowly inches his cock in. It’s so much bigger than his fingers, but it’s not painful, more of an ache.

Once Louis’s all the way in, Harry remembers to open his eyes.

“You okay?” Louis says. “You’re so so tight, holy fuck.” He’s holding himself so still, it looks like he’s hurting more than Harry is.

“I’m amazing,” Harry says. “Kiss? Please?”

Louis smiles, and leans closer slowly, clearly trying not to move his cock or touch Harry’s freshly-tattooed chest. Which Harry would’ve forgotten about, probably, were it not for how careful Louis’s handling him.

The movement still jostles his cock inside Harry, but it’s fine, it’s good. “You can move,” he says against Louis’s mouth.

Louis’s hips snap immediately, and Harry would feel fucking cherished by how considerate he’s being, except it’s hard to care about anything other than how good it feels. Louis holds himself up so he can kiss Harry without leaning on his chest and thrusts into him steadily, and it’s so so good Harry almost thinks he could cry.

And then Louis shifts and picks up the pace at a new angle, and suddenly Harry’s seeing stars every few seconds.

“Oh God,” he says. “Can I touch my cock, Lou?”

He’s not quite sure why he’s asking, only that Louis said he couldn’t come before and touching himself will lead to coming, but the way Louis’s eyes darken and his hips stutter makes Harry pretty sure he likes it.

“Yeah,” Louis says roughly. “You can, but only if you – I don’t want you to come until I do. Think you can do that?”

Harry can do anything Louis asks. “Yes,” he says breathlessly. Louis’s still hitting his prostate again and again. “I can, please, let me – ”

“Okay,” Louis says, and Harry gets his hand in between them and around his cock.

He doesn’t move his hand, but just the touch is a relief.

“I’m so fucking close,” Louis groans, and his rhythm falters but then his thrusts get faster, which is all Harry wants.

“Yesss,” he says, rubbing his hand over the head of his dick. “Harder, God, please – ”

Louis stiffens, buried deep with his cock pushing on Harry’s prostate, and he cries out, mouth open and eyes screwed shut. He gives a few shallow thrusts that are more like twitches, and Harry’s so, so close, he’s literally about to –

“You can come,” Louis says, still inside Harry and swivelling his hips, and he’s barely spoken before Harry’s orgasm rips out of him.

The next thing he registers, Louis’s pressing kisses all over his face.

“Amazing,” Louis says. “So amazing, my incredible boy.”

Harry feels all tingly and glowy. “You too,” he says. “I thought first times were s’posed to be awful.”

“We’re obviously sex gods,” Louis says. “I have to pull out, now, though.”

Harry pouts, and then pouts harder after Louis’s out.

“Sorry, love,” he says as he ties the condom and wipes Harry’s cock off with a pair of briefs. Harry’s priorities quickly shift from the ache in his arse to his need for cuddles.

He holds his arms out and whimpers, and Louis laughs, moves to lay back down, then stops and looks thoughtful.

“Trying to figure out how to cuddle without hurting you,” he says. “On your side, I think.”

Harry does as he says, feeling less and less awake by the second. Louis pulls the covers down and then scoots behind him, pulls up the covers and wraps his arms around Harry’s lower torso. Harry nestles back against Louis’s lovely naked body, and there’s honestly no place in the world he’d rather be.

*

Something’s poking his arm.

“Haz.”

Another poke.

“ _Harry_.”

“Wuhizzit,” Harry says into his pillow. His pillow is warm and hard and feels like skin. It’s also moving. Louis’s chest might be his pillow.

“Are you awake?” Louis asks.

If Harry was awake, he’d scoff. “No,” he says.

“It’s morning,” Louis says, like that means anything. “We slept for ten hours. And missed dinner.” Like _that_ means anything.

Harry groans against Louis’s skin, which he hopes Louis interprets as ‘I don’t care and I’m not waking up’.

Louis’s quiet for a while, which makes Harry think he got the message, and he’s this close to dropping back asleep, when –

“So I have a question,” Louis says.

“Mmm,” Harry says.

“D’you wanna – um. Will you be my boyfriend?”

That definitely wakes Harry up. He pushes himself up so he can see Louis and stares. “ … Are you just trying to wake me up?” he asks finally.

“No,” Louis says, looking uncharacteristically shy. “I’ve wanted to ask you for ages. Or, I dunno, if you don’t want to, um, could we go on a date, or something? I don’t know how this is done, I’ve haven’t ever – um.”

Ha. Harry was totally spot on, then, back when he thought Louis didn’t date.

But apparently Louis _wants_ to.

“I wanted it,” Louis says. “I just hadn’t met the right person.” He pauses. “Hadn’t met you.”

Well. How in the literal ever-loving fuck could Harry say no to that?

Not that he’d ever, ever want to.

“I wanna be your boyfriend,” he says, beside himself. It’s like he’s been proposed to, he’s so bloody happy. “Of course I do. Louis. I tattooed the bird version of you on my chest.”

Louis laughs, and from where he’s lying Harry can feel tension just melt out of him. It’s so mind-blowing, that Harry could possibly have this effect. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to it.

“I can’t top that,” Louis says. “Yet. I _have_ had a big, stupid crush on you since before you knew I existed, though.”

Harry frowns, confused. What does _that_ mean?

“You’ve never asked how I knew who you were, when we met,” Louis says.

He did? “I haven’t?” Harry says, and Louis shakes his head. Harry tries to remember what was even said. “Oh. Probably because I was too preoccupied with you calling me a kid. I thought it meant you wouldn’t want to have it off.”

“Yeah, because that’s what I was thinking,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “The fit boy from the country club, standing in front of me with his curls all crazy, in his cute striped pajama pants, holding a tennis racquet like a proper weapon. And all I could think about was how I _didn’t_ want to fuck him.”

Harry laughs. “The fit boy from the country club?” When was Louis at the club? Surely Harry would’ve noticed him.

“Yeah,” Louis says. He sighs. “Stan works in the kitchens, and I pick him up afterward sometimes. I might have seen you around a few times and thought you were hot, I mean, you _are_ , but I wasn’t going to do anything about it. Then I found out later Stan _knew_ that was your house and set me up on a dare hoping it’d force fate’s hand or some bullshit, that’s actually what he said. Could’ve killed him.”

“You really knew who I was before we met?” Harry says. He’s having so much trouble processing that Louis could’ve fancied him before even knowing him.

“Didn’t know your first name,” Louis says. “Just the Styles part. That’s all Stan knew.”

It’s probably the most romantic story Harry’s ever heard. “I like you so much,” Harry says.

“I know, sunshine,” Louis says affectionately. “You may as well have my name tattooed on your chest.”

*

Harry’s mum almost has a heart attack when they come down for breakfast.

He probably didn’t handle it quite right, like, wandering into the kitchen shirtless with his shiny red birds on full display, holding the hand of his sleep-disheveled, heavily tattooed boyfriend – yeah, that was probably a lot to take in. She hadn’t even known Louis was in the house, let alone existed.

“What in the world?” his mum asks when she’s gotten control of herself. “I really hope that’s not a real tattoo, Harry – and who’s this, I didn’t know you had anyone here – ”

To be honest, in all the excitement of yesterday, Harry had basically forgotten that his parents were even back home. He’s just glad she clearly wasn’t around to hear them last night.

“Um,” Harry says. Louis’s grip on Harry’s hand has tightened immensely, and he looks slightly distressed. “Mum, this is Louis. My boyfriend.”

“Okay,” his mum says slowly. She rests her hands on the counter and leans on them quite heavily.

“Nice to meet you,” Louis says, tentative for him, which sort of makes something blossom in Harry’s chest and also makes him feel really bad that they’re not doing this over a nice dinner.

“You too, love,” Harry’s mum says, and she does sound like she means it. “Harry,” she adds, in a much harsher tone. “The _tattoo_.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Um. That’s real. I’m sorry?”

She covers her face and groans. “You’re _sixteen_. What on earth were you thinking?”

“Um,” Harry says, thinking fast. “That I had sixteen years worth of good behaviour to make up for?”

“Oh, ha ha,” his mum says. “Very funny.” Her mouth is quirking up a bit, though, so maybe he’s not going to die after all.

Then Gemma walks in, takes a look at the entire scene, and laughs.

“I suppose you’re the reason I’ve barely seen him in two weeks, then,” she says to Louis. “Nice of him to finally bring you ‘round. What’s your name, how’d you meet, how corrupted is he, give me all the details.”

She sits next to their mum, who groans again. “Gemma,” she says. “Don’t encourage this.”

“I’m Louis,” Louis says. He takes in the two of them, and then, with just the right amount of contrite cheekiness, he says, “We met when I sort of maybe broke into your house.”

Gemma bursts into shocked laughter, and Harry’s mum’s not nearly as horrified as he’d expect. Harry decides to cook her breakfast and buy her some flowers, she’ll come around.

*

Showing up to the first day of school on the back of his boyfriend’s motorcycle probably wasn’t the smartest idea Harry’s ever had.

Not because of the appalled stares from his upper-crust classmates, of course, but because Harry’s known since the first time Louis took him riding that it turns him on like crazy. There’s something about being fastened to Louis’s back as he takes control of this fast, dangerous vehicle that really, really does it for Harry.

So he just has to snog Louis senseless once they hop off the bike, and when that does nothing to take the edge off, Harry has to drag him off to the empty sports shed for a quickie before Louis leaves for his own school. They might both miss their first classes of the day. Harry really doesn’t care.

 

-x-

 

**Author's Note:**

> (i am such a nervous wreck about posting this omg)
> 
> hiiii thank you so much for even reading this, let alone leaving kudos/comments/notes on the tumblr post, it means very much a lot to me!!!
> 
> um. there's a sequel in my brain but i'm the slowest writer ever so. hopefully in a couple months. hopefully before next year. feel free to yell at me to write, that usually works a bit. okay.
> 
> also my tumblr is [here](http://nobodymoves.tumblr.com) if that's your thing idk ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
